


The Queen of Bang-Bang Parking and other (sometimes) smutty stories

by ClaireScott



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Blow Job, F/M, Humor, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Tumblr, request
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 56
Words: 36,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7200506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaireScott/pseuds/ClaireScott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of requests from tumblr. Request and pairing named for every chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The after-dessert dessert (Juice/Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. I apologize for all the mistakes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader giving head in the car (Juice/Reader)

“Uh,” you sigh, “that’s good. Here, try.”  
You hold the ice-cream wafer in front of Juice’s mouth and he smiles before taking a lick. And another.  
“Yeah, that’s really good. What’s that? Walnut?”  
“They call it “Mapled Walnut caramel with dark chocolate streams”. Or something like this.”  
“Is this a Starbucks Ice Cream Shop I stopped at?” Juice points over his shoulder in the direction of the ice cream parlor you bought this little piece of creamy sin.  
“Yeah, kind of.”  
“Can I have ...” He wobbles with his tongue and you let him have another taste, laughing.  
His laugh lines crinkle because of your laughter and you know the drive back to Charming will be fun as ever. You like driving with Juice.  
Five minutes later the ice-cream waver is gone and you sigh satisfied.  
“I don’t know. I guess I need more.” You whisper, looking around in the car, in the glove compartment.  
“You’ll find no ice cream in the glove compartment, honey,” Juice chuckles. “Where’s the next ice cream parlor on our way? Just look it up in your cell phone, will you?”  
“No, it’s not ice cream I want ...,” you smile, reaching over to his thigh.  
“Sorry, I ran out of bubble gums, baby,” he says.  
“No bubble gums for me, thanks,” you answer, palming his crotch.  
He hisses, gripping the steering wheel tighter.  
“There we go,” you whisper, sliding closer, “Found something to stuff my mouth with.”  
“Y/N!” Juice moans and you open the zipper of his pants.  
“Yeah?” You ask innocently, taking him out.  
He lifts his right arm to make room for you to lay your head in his lap. His hips rocking forward, his tip touching your mouth. You lick slowly over the head of his cock and feel his right leg stepping on the brake. He slows the car down and fists his right hand in your hair.  
“Go on, no teasing,” he says through gritted teeth and presses your head gently down until you feel his neatly shaved skin on your nose.  
“I want to enjoy my after-ice-dessert,” you mumble after withdrawing and he grunts a “Wait until we’re home and I’ll show you ...”  
He leads your head up and down, you lick circles over his tip, suck him in, hollow your cheeks to the point it nearly hurts. His panting gets louder and louder, the car slows down and you feel he stops. The “ping-ping-ping” of the emergency flasher is the rhythm you move your head up and down.  
“Fuck,” he hisses and his hips lift off the seat, your head is now roughly pressed in his lap. “Fuck, yes!”  
The salty taste of his semen hits your tongue, mixing with taste of the mapled walnut chocolate something and you moan with pleasure.  
“That’s how I like my dessert,” you whisper and look up, seeing his wide, happy smile, his chest still heaving.  
A truck passes by, blowing the horn and Juice sighs: “You’re totally crazy, you know?”  
“Yeah. And you love it.”  
“Oh, I do. Wanna drive back and I’ll pay you another ice-cream wafer?”  
“No, thanks. I’m no ice-cream wafer whore, Juice. Just drive us home so we hit the bedroom before I’m hungry again.”  
He laughs, helps you sit up and deactivates the emergency flasher.  
“Thanks, baby. That was amazing.”  
“You’re welcome. And now stop babbling, Juice. Drive!”


	2. Live Porn (Juice/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Catching the character masturbating (Juice/Reader)

A relieved sigh slips out of your chest as you see the lights in your apartment. You were afraid Juice wasn’t at home, on the road for the club. Your shift was supposed to end on midnight and he promised to pick you up. But you’ve got a terrible headache and texted him you would come home earlier. He didn’t answer which worried you a bit. But at least he’s at home. Probably he’s having headphones on so he didn’t hear his cell phone. Whatever. You’re at home and able to take a painkiller and go to bed.   
Opening the apartment door you root to the spot: There’s a woman moaning. What the hell? You listen closely, hearing a man’s voice which is definitely not Juice’s and you take a deep breath. He’s watching porn. Is he?   
You tiptoe to the living room and take a careful look to the couch and the TV. Yeah, he’s watching porn. And he’s nearly done with it, you assume, seeing how fast his hand moves. His eyes are closed and you’re near enough to see the pre-cum glistening on the tip. He moans, and you smile hearing this so familiar and intimate sound.   
“Y/N,” he moans, “oh, fuck, Y/N!”   
You wince, thinking he caught you watching him. But his eyes are still closed, he’s deep in his fantasies, fantasies of you. His left hand feels for the kleenex he positioned beside him on the couch and you know he’s close. You see his abs contracting, his hips lifting, bucking in his own fist. It’s better than every porn movie in the world. His head falls back and he cums with your name on his lips. You’re watching him catching every drop of his semen with the kleenex, like a pro, blind. You give him a few seconds to catch his breath, see him throwing the cum-soaked kleenex on the empty plate on the coffee table (god, Juice! Really?). His hand sinks on his thigh and you watch his dick soften. He grabs, eyes still closed, the remote and stops the movie. You tiptoe back to the apartment door, open it carefully and slam it shut.   
“Juice?” You call, smiling because you know how startled he’s now, adjusting his pants and maybe hiding the kleenex and the DVD case.   
“Baby?” He asks, his voice sounding raspy. „What are you doing here?“  
“I texted you, didn’t you check your phone? I’ve got a terrible headache and decided to go home earlier. Why? Am I disturbing you?”   
“Uh, no, of course not. I’ve missed you actually.”  
“I know,” you smile, stepping into the living room. “Mind some cuddling after I take a painkiller?”  
“No, I don’t mind. I join you in a minute, baby, I just ... tidy up here.”  
“Okay,” you answer.   
Dork, you think, heading to the bathroom to get an aspirin.


	3. Seven Minutes Pleasure (Juice/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character catching the Reader masturbating (Juice/Reader)

You’re tired, stressed and irritated so you gave a fuck for Juice’s guests – Happy and Jax – and said you would go to bed. Now you’re lying here and can’t sleep. You need to relax, you need your man at your side but you can’t always get what you want. Fuck. After 20 minutes of tossing and turning you get up, taking the toy box out of the wardrobe. You’ll need relief to catch some sleep. Taking your favorite vibrator back in the bed you check on the bedroom door. Closed. Okay. You’ll have to be silent, but that’s no problem. You strip, making yourself comfortable, playing a bit with your nipples, the vibrator buzzing low level on your labia. When your breathing gets heavier you insert the vib slowly into your pussy. You’re already wet enough to be gently fucked so you go on. You spread your legs, imaging Juice’s fingers on your nipples, flicking over your clit, his cock filling you. Hitting your g-spot makes you moan and you press your free hand over your mouth. You’ll take your time to relax your whole body, you don’t want a quick orgasm. You fuck yourself slowly, the vib still on a low level, enjoying the growing arousal. One minute, two minutes, three minutes and you’re deep, deep in your fantasies, completely concentrated on your body and its magical reactions. 

You scream as the mattress sinks in and in the moment you open your eyes, totally startled, you see Juice kneeling over you.  
“What are you doing, baby?” He asks lowly, smiling. “Having fun without me?”  
You can only nod and watch him getting up, walking the three steps to the bedroom door.  
“Jax? Hap? Grab another beer if you want. I’m with you in five minutes.”  
“Okay. But five minutes is way too short, even for a quickie, bro. You’ve got seven,” Jax answers and Happy adds: “Make it good for her.”  
“Always,” Juice answers, closing the door, locking it.  
In a heartbeat he’s back over you, removing the blanket.  
“The favorite vib,” he smiles. “Who’d have thunk?”  
“Juice ...,” you whisper, feeling actually a bit ashamed.  
“Go on. May I help?”  
“Juice ...”  
“I said go on, Y/N.” He lowers himself to kiss you, embracing your hand with his, moving the vibrator with you.  
You moan on his lips and he fucks you faster, he moves the vibrator as only a man can, a man who exactly knows what he’s doing. And Juice knows best what gets you off.  
“Yeah,” he whispers at your ear, “that’s it, baby, relax, let go. Imagine it’s my cock impaling you, filling you up with cum. You like it don’t you? Being filled up with my cum?”  
“Yeah,” you pant, “like it. Please, Juice, please.”  
“Tell me, are you close?”  
“Yes, yes, I am ... oh, fuck ...”  
“Come on, let me see it. Show me how beautiful you are when I make you cum.”  
He flicks over your clit and you lose it. He cushions your scream with his mouth, holding your trembling body, slowing the movement and the buzzing of the vib down. Your chest is heaving and he lies down beside you, taking you in his arms.  
“Sleep, baby. Now you can sleep. I’m here. And later ... after these two dorks are gone and I’ve joined you I’ll wake you up, and give you a real cock to cum on. Okay?”  
“Yeah. Thanks, Juice.”  
He covers you with the blanket and says: “Funny what happens when you just want to grab a fresh pair of socks after a brother soaked yours with beer.”  
“That’s why you sneaked in? You wanted a pair of socks?”  
“Yeah. And I’m glad I sneaked in. You’re so damn hot to watch. Now sleep. You’ve got a long night ahead.”  
You nod, already feeling your limps getting heavy.  
“Don’t forget your socks when you go back,” you manage to mumble and you feel him nod: “Shhh. I won’t.”


	4. The CaraCara application (Juice/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and Character having sex in the clubhouse and get caught

Juice lifts you up, placing your ass on the edge of the table in the chapel, at the president’s seat. He unbuckles his belt with his right, dragging his pants and his boxers down, impatiently and greedy.  
“What are you doing, Juice?” You ask, licking your lips seeing his full erect cock, pre-cum glistening on the tip.  
“Preparing a funeral feast for Jax’s great grandfather. What does it looks like, baby?” He grins, lifting your chin to kiss you.  
He pushes the crotch of your panties aside to be able to enter you, expressing his thankfulness for your decision to wear a skirt today.  
“And if someone comes in?”  
“Nobody’s here. We’re alone. And I’ll make it quick. Please, honey,” he whispers, “need you. Didn’t have you for three weeks.”  
His puppy eyes are nothing you’re able to fight, just as his smile.  
“Okay,” you give your consent. “Really quick.”  
His forehead pressed on yours, your gazes locked he enters you slowly, a low moan on his lips.  
“Fuck, babe! Missed you so much,” he mumbles, withdrawing.  
He starts slowly, the first minute feels so gentle and caring that you think of reminding him to go faster. You don’t want to get caught.  
“No, look at me,” he whispers as you start to lose focus, as you want to take a look to the open door. “Look at me. Come with me, honey. Wanna feel your pussy squeezing my cock.”  
“Juan ...,” you moan and he speeds up, fucking you hard and fast now.  
It’s nearly too much, too fast, and the way your orgasm builds up in your belly is breathtaking, shattering and so much needed you have to hold a scream back.  
“That’s it. That’s it,” Juice pants, “Fuck, that’s so good!”  
You cling on him for dear life, breathing his breath, lips on lips, no energy left for a kiss.  
“Juan, oh ... oh ... my ...” You’re running out of words and he cheers you, panting so heavy you barely able to understand his words: “Come, baby, come around my cock. Let ... go ... oh, fuck! Aaah!”  
You scream your orgasm in the chapel, stuttering his name, curses, pleas, all mixed together. He presses himself deep, deep into you, holding completely still, biting in your lower lip as it hits him like an express train.  
“You owe me 20,” Jax’s voice says and you both look to the door, totally startled.  
You see Happy and Jax standing there, Happy handing Jax 20 Dollars.  
“Shit! You’re better than I thought, Juice.” Happy growls, making a face.  
“Happy bet you wouldn’t make her come. I put my money on Juice. Thanks bro. Oh, and ... here, have some application forms for CaraCara.” Jax grins, throws a folder on the table and goes on: “I expect the table and my place to be thoroughly cleaned in 15. Got me, Juicy?”  
Juice nods and you watch Happy and Jax leave. You punch him on the shoulder, hissing: “Didn’t you say we’re alone?”  
“Sorry, baby. They ... dunno ... appeared from nowhere I guess.”  
You roll your eyes, punching him once more: “Get out of my pussy, Juice! Cleaning is up to you, got it?”  
He smiles, kissing you gently.  
“Love ya, sweetheart.”  
“Love you too, Juan.”


	5. Insight (Juice/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character almost dying (Juice/Reader, no smut in this one)

His face is as pale as the sheets and you fight your tears back, routinely checking the CVL, the endotracheal tube, the dialysis catheter, the infusions, his urinary excretion in the urine bag. Good. His kidneys started working again, the hourly rate increased from 30 milliliters yesterday to 150 during the morning. Maybe he doesn’t need to be dialyzed once more as he pees and the parameters of the blood gas analysis are close to the physiological level again. The ECG shows a perfect sinus rhythm, 74 beats per minute. You take a deep breath, placing the medical records on the bedside table.  
“Hey, honey,” you whisper, “I’m here. I guess you’re out of the woods if you don’t do something stupid now.”  
Taking his hand in yours you kiss him on the forehead, fishing with your leg for the chair you lived in for the last six days, only leaving it to work your shifts one floor above, having a quick meal in the canteen and a even quicker shower in the changing room.  
“Maybe we’ll wake you up tomorrow morning, baby,” you whisper, “and I really hope you’ll give your best to breathe by yourself, okay? Cause if you do, you’re outta here in a heartbeat, I promise.”  
You smile, caressing his hand, his Reaper tattoo on his forearm.  
“Now that you’re ... not in danger of death anymore I had some time to think about ... about what you’ve said. I was so close-lipped yesterday evening because I rethought our last talk and the fight we’ve had. I’m sorry for being so ... so restrained when it came to your ... wishes for the future. I’m a bit afraid of ... of bearing this big responsibility, you know? I’m ... I don’t know how a real family works just as you do too. But you ... you’re so confident when it comes to my abilities for being a ... mom. A real mom, a good one. I was so touched in your trust in me, that I had to close ... my blinds. I didn’t want to cry in front of you, didn’t want to be stupid, didn’t want you to see me this weak and insecure. But in the hours I thought I would lose you forever, I ... god, fuck it, I can’t express what hell I was in, what I felt. Juice, if you start breathing on your own tomorrow morning, we’ll start the family you’ve always wanted. Promise. I want to have children as long as they’re yours. You are the father of my children so don’t you dare leaving me before we’re having a whole soccer team of grandchildren. Okay? So, we’re good again? I hate fighting with you, baby. And even more I hate you seeing like this. Be strong. Fight your way back to me. I’ll make it worth, I promise. I love you, Juan Carlos.”  
Laying your forehead on his appeasing warm back of the hand you cry the tears you swallowed the last six horrible days. Everything will be fine. He’ll make it. By the skin of his teeth. But he’ll make it.


	6. A lack of pastels (Juice/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader being a Female SoA member (Juice/Reader), no smut.

The moment you get your patch you’ll never forget. You fought so hard in the last fucking three years of your prospect time to get the respect you deserve, to show you’re as badass as any man can be. You tortured yourself in gyms to be able to hold the heaviest bike and you passed any activities that seemed to have a strong female touch. And now you’ve made it. You’re patched as a full member. Now you can be both again: Woman and biker.   
You’re hugged by everyone, getting a slap on your ass from Happy, a kiss on the cheek from Juice and a soft slap on the back of the head from Chibs. You knew that they would patch you today and now it’s time for payback.   
“Oh, my god!” You screech, jumping up and down, “I’m so happy!”  
The boys send you irritated looks and you walk hip-wiggling to the door, open it: “Lyla! I’m patched! It’s party time!”  
The members call their approval and Lyla enters the room with a trolley table you prepared earlier. You grab some glitter confetti and throw it in the air, screeching together with Lyla in the highest notes you’re able to, jumping up and down like maniacs.   
“Who wants some strawberry sparkling wine, boys? I’ve also got cherry limes, baileys and everything you need for pretty pink cocktails! Oh, do you mind if I re-decorate this room tomorrow? It lacks very much of pink and pastels.” You call, throwing a lilac table cloth on the carved reaper.  
The horror –stricken facial expression are your pay for three hard years.   
“What did we do?” Jax mumbles and Happy shakes his head: “Dunno. Shall I shoot her?”   
“I am a member, Hap,” you trill sweetly. “You’re not allowed to shoot me, baby.”   
“We made a monster,” Tig says, “but I’m good with it. Glitter’s good.”   
“Thank you, Tiggy,” you smile, kissing him.   
“Uh, that’s just ... revenge, right? Tomorrow you’ll be normal again, huh?” Juice asks and you shrug, smiling: “Depends ...,” you whisper on his ear.  
“Depends on what?” He whispers back and you inhale his scent.   
Now. After three years of silent attraction, after three years of “fuck the prospect and you get in trouble, Juicy boy” you can finally have him. You’re both free now.   
“If you fuck me to sanity tonight or not.”  
You wink and turn around, heading to the bar with the boys, leaving a speechless Juice behind. Finally, after three years, you’ve done it. You have the patch. And tonight you’ll have Juice.


	7. Phone Sex (Happy/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone sex between Character and Reader (Happy/Reader)

“Yeah?” You mumble, asking yourself why you are on the phone.   
You’ve obviously answered the call while still sleeping, you can’t remember hearing the phone ringing – maybe you dreamed it and there’s no one on the phone. Opening one eye you see it’s 4:30 a.m. Fuck.   
“Hey,” a familiar, raspy voice says.   
“Hey,” you answer, rubbing over your eyes.   
“Miss you,” Happy says under his breath and you ask: “Where are you?”  
“Lake Tahoe. I miss you.”  
“Yeah I got that. Miss you too, Hap.”   
“Okay.”   
You wait for him to say anything, listening to his breath, to the rustling of clothes or sheets. Calls are usually not his thing, taciturn he is. So you have no idea why he calls or where this will lead.  
“Hap,” you say, “it’s 4:30 and I ...”  
“Take your pants off.”  
You frown and answer: “Uhm ... I don’t wear any pants.”  
“Why not? You naked?”  
“Yeah. It’s pretty hot so I sleep naked.”  
You hear him take a deep breath, more rustling of some fabric.   
“I’m hard as a rock, babe.”  
His words causing a sharp tug in your pussy.   
“That’s why you call me?” You whisper very softly, in an innocent tone. “You’re missing my tight little pussy?”  
“Yeah. I do. Touch yourself. Wanna hear you.”   
You do as you’re told, moaning lowly: “Why do you have a boner? Dreamed of me?”  
“Yeah. Dreamed of your little hands around my cock.”  
“It’s a glorious cock, so big and hard for me, all the time. I really like your dick. I’m kind of a-dick-ted.”  
He chuckles and says: “You’re a bit wet already?”  
“Soaking wet,” you say, moaning. “Thinking of you make me wet period.”  
“Two fingers. Fast and hard. Wanna hear you, baby. Now.”  
You push pointer and middle finger into your pussy, moaning.  
“Your cock feels so much better, Hap,” you whisper, rubbing your clit gently.   
“Tomorrow night.” He says, and you know he’s close, his voice even raspier than normal. “Gonna fuck you sore.”  
“How do you want me then?” You ask, closing your eyes, enjoying the reactions of your body.   
“From behind. I’m gonna take you from behind, leave bite marks on your neck.”  
“God, yes, Happy, I love this! Claim me as yours, bite me, fuck me hard, will you? Please?”  
“Course. Fuck, I’m close!”  
He falls silent as ever when he comes. Hap makes no sound during his orgasm, he even holds his breath, starting to breathe again when the last drop left his cock. The heavy panting that follows tells you he’s ready, he came, long and hard.   
“Come on, baby girl. Cum for me,” he groans and you rub your clit faster, fucking yourself with two fingers.   
Years of experience made you fast and determined, you know exactly how to get an orgasm in less than 60 seconds. Happy listens so you’re extra verbal, just for him, whispering sweet nothings and dirty words, mixed together to something hot and sexy.   
Your orgasm comes as fast and hard as Happy’s and you sink back in the pillows, relieved, satisfied.   
“Tomorrow night, babe. Want you to wear a skirt. No underwear. No barrier between my cock and your pussy.”   
“Okay,” you sigh, still a bit high.   
“Go back to sleep, baby, love you.” He says and ends the call before you’ve got the chance to answer.


	8. The thief (Happy/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader listening to the Character confess his love when she wasn't supposed to (Happy/Reader, no smut)

Being the housekeeper and the lady’s companion for Mrs. Lowman is the best job you’ve had in years. You like her pretty much and you two get along great. Her son scared you nearly to death during the interview but meanwhile you warmed up with him. He’s not a big talker but he’s caring, visiting his mother nearly every day as long he’s not on runs with his motorcycle club. Over the last nine months you developed a kind of fragile friendship with him. He’s restrained, taciturn, and grumpy from time to time, but he always has a little smile for you. Mrs. Lowman talks a lot about him, she’s so proud of him it opens your heart when she tells you stories of his childhood, of his teenage years. You still don’t know how he earns his living, how he makes the money to pay your monthly wage and even Mrs. Lowman is a bit at a loss when it comes to Happy’s profession. Sometimes, because of his quite scary appearance and behavior, you fear he does something illegal. You’ve heard stories about the Sons and as rumor has it they’re involved in drug dealing, in prostitution, in porn and in arms trade. These are the things you make a lot of money with, money to pay a housekeeper for a languishing mother for example. 

It’s a bright Thursday afternoon in May when you come upstairs from the basement you tidied up. You have a laundry basket in your hands, heading to the bedroom to put the clothes in Mrs. Lowman’s wardrobe. You pass the living room and hear Happy’s voice – you didn’t notice him coming for a visit. You stop in the moment you hear your name, making a step back, pressing yourself on the wall beside the door.   
“... tell you something about Y/N,” he says and you frown.   
What the hell should he tell his mother about you? You did nothing wrong, did you?  
“I know, Happy, I already know,” Mrs. Lowman answers and you hear her smile, feeling somehow eased.   
She isn’t angry with you.   
“She stole something.” Mrs. Lowman states and you keep your breath.  
Oh, fuck! No, you didn’t steal something, no way. It’s a terrible mistake, you have to set the record straight.   
“She stole something?” Happy asks, sounding suddenly very angry. “What? Money? Your necklace – you don’t wear it and I already asked myself why.”   
“No, my dear. She stole something from you.”  
You flinch – god, it’s getting worse. She didn’t seem to be this demented. Were you mistaken the whole time?   
“What?” He asks and you hear he’s standing up, ready to come after you.   
You’re suddenly so afraid you fear you could piss in your pants. Shit. Oh, shit. Maybe he’ll kill you. Beat you. Whatever: The job is gone. Oh, shit. Fuck it. You fight your tears down, forcing you to listen. You want to know what lies ahead.   
“Sit down, Happy. Stay here. She did nothing wrong. She just stole your heart, didn’t she?”  
For a second all is silent and you need a moment to process what you’ve heard.   
“Uhm ...,” Happy says, “yeah, I guess ... that’s true. I think I’m in love with her.”  
“So ask her out. How old are you, son? 40? 45? You don’t wanna tell me you need your old mother’s help for asking a young woman out for a dinner?”  
“But I scare her to death. Like every normal woman.”  
“Nonsense on stilts! She likes you. Just ask. She’s in the basement right now, tidying up.”  
“Yeah, great idea. She’s scared and I come after her in the basement to ask her out. Even I know that’s creepy, mom.”  
“No need for the basement. I’m right here,” you say, entering the living room. “And I’d like to have dinner with you.”  
You give him a smile, feeling a kind of double relief pulsing through your veins.


	9. A tupperware party (Happy/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader giving Character a lap dance (Happy/Reader, mild smut)

You’re nearly ready with vacuuming your apartment as your iPod shuffle delivers some good old classic stripper song. Pony. And it gives you ideas. Entering the living room where Happy sits on the couch you swing your hips in the rhythm he isn’t able to hear. You take a look on the flat screen – he watches a documentary about the history of the postal system in North America. Nothing important, so to say. You step between him and the screen, dancing, removing your shorts, so you just wear a top and your panties. You put the iPod in the waistband of your panties, dancing to Happy who watches you with growing interest, head tilt to the side. You sit down on his lap, facing him, accentuating your tits with your movement and with gentle touches of your hands. Happy licks his lips, staring on your breasts like a fourteen year old. He grabs your hips, pulling you closer, over his crotch. He lifts his hands, removing the earplugs.   
“What’s that going to be?” He asks hoarsely.   
“A tupperware party, Mr. Lowman,” you answer, smiling. “What does it look like?”  
“Good. I need round about ten or twelve new fridgesmarts to storage my trophies.”   
“Right away, sir,” you answer, leaning in for a kiss, “anything else?”  
“Think about it. Go on with this tupperware party thing you doin’.”   
Now you dance without music, just making him hot and horny. You remove your shirt, dancing on his lap with lascivious moves, rubbing your core on his boner. He grabs your hips and bites in your left tit, sucking a hickey. Happy Lowman loves hickeys on your body, everywhere. After leaving his mark on your tit he licks over your already hard nipple, pulling your bra down for unhindered access.   
“Found a thing I want,” he mumbles around your nipple, looking up to you, frowning.  
“Yeah? Glad to hear this. What is it?”  
You feel his right hand at the crotch of your panties, pulling the fabric aside.  
“Pussy,” he states and you moan as his fingers jitter over your entrance.   
“You’re a lucky guy, Mr. Lowman. I have one. The one and only, the last one. It’s one of our bestselling products, it’s pink, tight, hot and wet – you will like it.”  
“How wet?”  
“Very, very wet.”   
“How much?” He asks, making you laugh.   
“120 bucks for 12 fridgesmarts, the pussy is free, it’s your host credit, Mr. Lowman.”   
“Good. Bought.”  
“Thank you so much for your shopping at tupperware. Please honor our shop with another visit at your earliest convenience, sir.”  
“You’re a crazy girl, Y/N.”  
“I know. Wanna unwrap your host credit in the bedroom, Mr. Lowman?”  
“Yeah. Go, girl.” He says, slapping your ass.   
You give him a smile and make a note to self: More lap dancing, more tupperware parties. They’re fun.


	10. The McClane incident (Kozik/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character waking the Reader with Oral (Kozik/Reader, not really smut)

You wake up to the feeling of something wet and warm lapping on your thigh, higher, dangerously near to your core. You groan, moving your hip a bit to the left. Something heavy and warm lies on your lower leg and after a moment the wet, warm feeling on your skin is back. Even nearer at your core and ...  
“Oh, my god!” You yell pushing the head between your thighs away, fingers tangled in the coat. “You’re such a pervert, McClane, the most perverted dog in the history of dogs!”  
“I’m not McClane, babe, but I might be a pervert. Mind if I go on eating you out or do you want to go on insulting your stupid dog, huh?” Herman’s voice says and you finally open your eyes, seeing him lying between your legs, his head in an uncomfortable angle hold by your hands in his hair.  
“Uh ...,” you say, biting your lower lip, loosening the grip on his hair. “I’m sorry, Koz ... I thought the dog ...”  
“Yeah, I totally get what you thought, honey. I on the other hand thought you gotta be shittin’ me,” he grins, placing his now free head on your thigh again.  
He looks over his shoulder to the bedroom door and the dog, who strolled in, hearing his name.  
“Did he ever lick on your pussy? I mean, really? That’s some creepy shit. I bet Tig’s gettin’ a boner just by hearing this story.”  
You chuckle, shaking your head: “No, of course not! God, Herman! That’s disgusting! McClane licks my feet, sometimes my knee or my hand to wake me up.”  
“Hey, McClane!” Kozik says turning around to face the dog. “I’m the only one who’s allowed to lick at this lady, okay? Keep your greedy tongue in your mouth or find your own girlfriend to lick at. Got it?”  
McClane makes a snorting noise and leaves the bedroom. You chuckle uncontrollably and caressing Herman’s hair while he turns around to face you again.  
“So,” he says, grinning. “One more try?”  
His fingers open your pussy lips and he blows gently on your core, making you shiver.  
“Yes, please. I swear I won’t yell at you this time.”  
“You’re allowed to yell when I make you cum. But no more tries to rip my head off, okay?”  
“Okay.”  
You sink back in the pillows, open your legs for him, sighing as his skillful tongue meets your clit for the first time.


	11. Shoes (Juice/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk love confession to reader (Juice/Reader, no smut)

Waken by the door bell in the middle of the night never ever meant anything good, neither in the history of manhood nor in the history of door bells.  
Throwing the sheets aside you get up, yelling: “Yeah, yeah, I got it! I’m coming, dammit!”  
Walking down the hallway you check your state of clothing – all sexual characteristics properly covered? Yeah, thank god.  
Reaching the front door you lean on the wall, asking: “Who is it?”  
“Shoes,” a male voice says, murmurous.  
“Shoes? Who the fuck is Shoes?” You ask, thinking of a kind of Disney movie with a pair of talking shoes on a front door in the middle of the night.  
“Itsmeshoes.” He answers. “Shh—uuuuu—aan.”  
“Dude, you’re sure you’re talking to the right woman?”  
“Yeah. Lemme in.”  
“What’s your surname, buddy?” You ask, hoping you’ll understand at least this.  
“Ooo-ooortisss.”  
“Juice?” You ask, your hand reaching for the door knob.  
“Yeah. Sat’s what I tollya. Shoes.”  
“Oh, my fucking god,” you sigh, opening the door for the biker boy you have a secret crush on.  
“Hey,” he greets with a dopey smile.  
“Hey, Shoes,” you answer, smiling, looking up to this big, drunk baby dork.  
He lifts his pointer finger, shaking his head: “It’s Shoes. _Shoes_. Okay? _Not_ Shoes.”  
“Yeah, okay, Juice.”  
“Sat’s right,” he grins, sinking on his knees in front of you.  
“Shit, honey, what are you doing? You okay?”  
He nods, clearing his throat.  
“Bay ... Bay .... Baby ... I lovya. I love ya. Deep from se ... se ...,” he points on his heart, finding the right place at the second try. “sis.”  
“Heart,” you help him, smiling.  
“Yeah.”  
“Thank you. Wanna come in?”  
“Nah ... Opie’s waitn in se truck.”  
“There’s no truck. He left you here. Come in, Juice. Enough party for tonight, don’t you think?”  
“I sink I love ya.”  
“I know, honey. Wanna sleep in my bed, big guy?” You ask, hunkering down to be on eye level with him.  
His face lightens up and he nods: “Yeah.”  
“Okay. Stand up, Juice.”  
He does, with difficulties, but he manages to get up without help.  
“Loveya, loveya, loveya,” he mumbles, wobbling to the bedroom.  
Dork, you think, smiling. You love this big baby dork deep from the ... this. Heart. Yeah.


	12. I carried a watermelon (Juice/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader forcing a Character to watch Dirty Dancing with her (Juice/Reader, no smut, but Dirty Dancing references)

“What are you doin’ here?” Juice asks, taking a look on the clock at the wall.  
“I carried a watermelon,” you answer snarky, rolling your eyes.  
“A watermelon? Where is it?” Juice looks at your empty hands, his facial expression confused.  
“That’s a movie quote, dumbass.”  
“Which movie?”  
“Dirty Dancing.”  
Juice makes a face, shaking his head: “Uh, never watched this particular piece of teen flick shit.”  
“That’s a mistake. It’s part of our culture.”  
He rolls his eyes, shoving his hand in the pocket of his kutte.  
“We’ll watch it. Tonight. It’s a serious gap in education we have to close immediately.”  
“No, I really don’t want to watch some creepy dance movie.”  
“There’s sex and a woman in a wet shirt.”  
“And if I don’t watch it with you I won’t get sex for how long?”  
“A week.”  
“You’re pure evil, baby,” he sighs, rubbing with his right hand over his face. “Okay. We’ll watch it.”  
“Falling asleep during the movie means a start from the beginning. Just for your information.”  
“Pure evil, as I said.”  
“If you’re watching it until the end – and you don’t even have to like it – you’ll get a first class blow job, baby. Deal?”  
His face lights up for a second, just to turn into a grimace again: “Like a donkey chasing a carrot. That’s embarrassing.”  
“I’ll make it worth, honey,” you whisper, coming closer and palming his crotch for a second, making him slap your ass in respond: “You better do.” 

In the evening Juice’s lying on the couch, wearing sweatpants and a shirt, placing his naked feet on your lap.  
“We’ll watch it. I pass every snarky comment. I’ll get a 90 minutes foot massage AND a blow job after the end credits.”  
“And if not?”  
“You have to live with a guy with,” Juice lifts his hands and gestures quotation marks in the air, “a serious gap in education.”  
“You’re blackmailing me.”  
“I learned from the best, baby,” he grins. “So, are we agreed?”  
You sigh and start the movie: “Sure Neil. No problem. We'll end the season with the pachenga.”  
“Whatever this means, I tell you one thing: We’ll end the evening with a first class blow job for Juice,” he grins, prodding your hand with his foot: “Come on. Foot massage.”  
You chuckle and start your duty, speaking along with Baby: “That was the summer of 1963 - when everybody called me Baby, and it didn't occur to me to mind.”  
“Oh, my fucking god ...,” Juice mumbles, shaking his head.


	13. The Queen of Bang-Bang Parking (Juice/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader losing virginity AND Reader and Character meeting after many years

With 13 you imagined a four-poster bed and candles. And someone like Jon Bon Jovi but not this old.  
With 14 you imagined a four-poster bed and candles. Maybe with oh-my-god Marky Mark. Did you see these abs? This body?  
With 15 you imagined a four-poster bed and candles. And Marky Mark was still a thing.  
With 16 you quit the four-poster bed. A loft with a mattress on the floor and candles. That’s it. So much cooler. The sloppy kisses the unfortunately abs-less Michael gave you didn’t taste like lofts and candles and making yourself a gift to a special man who was worth it.  
With 17 you’ve had – in the retrospective – an embarrassing phase of pseudo gothic, owing to your best friend Janie. Your dreams back then included very dark bedrooms with black walls and black candles and a black four-poster bed (again, finally!) and a guy looking like a frontal crash between Marky Mark, Robert James Smith and a zombie. 

With 18 you’ve met Juan Carlos, the guy repairing your damaged outside mirrors every few weeks.  
Sadly, you must admit: You’re the most horrible driver in the history of Charming, the queen of bang-bang parking as Juan Carlos states every time you visit Teller-Morrow’s.  
Today it has been a disastrous placed post on a parking deck at the shopping center. Fuck the architects! How in the seven hells can you build a parking deck like this?  
“Thank god, it’s Y/N”, the mechanic named Kip calls, like every time you show up. “Juice! Y/N is back! Our monthly paycheck is saved!”  
“A-ha-ha-ha, Kip, you’re so funny,” you answer, turning to Juice who comes out of the garage.  
“Hey, Y/N. What did you do this time? How many dead and injured?”  
“Not even one, as always. I’m just horrible at ... everything. I’ve lost my outside mirror. Again.”  
Juice chuckles and his smile causes butterflies in your belly. Suddenly you ask yourself how his bed may look. No four-poster, no candles. He’s a mechanic and, as far as you know, a biker. He surely sleeps in an IKEA bed his mom bought when he was 15. The bed’s a mess and his sheets smelling like tobacco, leather and motor oil, a tiny bit like his after shave or his shower gel. You close your eyes because of the sudden erotic you feel in this picture.  
“Good thing I ordered a dozen. As if I hadn't already guessed, my queen of bang-bang parking.”  
“Thank you. You’re really clear-sighted.”  
He shrugs and lights a cigarette, waving Kip back in the garage: “Half-Sack, check the emissions of the Chrysler and weld the exhaust.”  
“Sure, boss,” Kip answers, strolling back in the garage.  
“So, that’s the 14th time this year you grace TM with your presence. Who taught you driving? Your great grandfather? A deaf-blind uncle?”  
You don’t appreciate this with an answer, you just roll your eyes.  
“I fix it. I clock off in an hour, by then the mirror is fixed. Okay?”  
“Okay. Thanks, Juice.”  
“Welcome. Uhm, I guess someone should give you a few more lessons. Me, for example.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah. I guess there are better ways to spend money than in outside mirrors or car wings. Not that I mind fixing your car nearly every week, but ...” He shrugs, flipping the ash off his cigarette.  
“What do you want in return?” You ask warily, frowning.  
“Pay as you wish, Y/N.” 

A month later you sit on the edge of his neatly made bed, in this very decent bedroom. He’s sitting behind you, kissing your neck, hands caressing your back, flanks and belly.  
“Uhm ...,” you say, swallowing hard. “There’s one more thing I used to be horrible at. Except parking.”  
“And driving,” Juice adds and you hear his grin.  
“Yeah.”  
“What is it?”  
You lean back, closing your eyes, enjoying the feeling of hard, rough and strong hands on your body.  
“Sex.”  
Without stopping to kiss the sensitive skin on your neck he answers: “No one is horrible at sex.”  
“I was horrible in trying ... uhm ... I ... oh, god ... I’ve never ... I still have my V Card, Juice.”  
Not even now he stops, quite the contrary. He opens your bra and cups your breasts with his hands. It fits perfect and you turn your head to kiss him.  
“Okay. Good to know. Tell me if you want me to stop.”  
“Don’t stop, please. I want ... to have the thing with this fucking V Card over and done with. Do you want to stop?” You ask and he shakes his head: “No. I’d love to bang the queen of bang-bang parking.”  
You chuckle, caressing his scalp: “I used to dream of a four-poster bed and many candles. But this,” you gesture over his bedroom, “is much better.”  
“Yeah?” He asks, nibbling at your earlobe. “Lay down, honey. Relax. I promise you’re not horrible at sex. You’ve found a good teacher.”  
“Did I tell you that I was at the shopping center yesterday and parked without damaging my car?” You ask, lying down as requested.  
“You did. About five times. I’m very proud of you,” he smiles, opening your belt, pulling your jeans down. “No more babbling, okay? There’s no need to be nervous. I’m with you.”  
“Actually, that’s somehow soothing.”  
He smiles his fantastic smile and removes your panties.  
“Here we go,” he whispers, kissing a trail from your breastbone to your right nipple. 

An eternity later you’re a sweaty mess with scraggly hair – because you rummaged around in it while Juice ate you out. Your chest is heaving, eyes still closed, not even halfway down from your high.  
“Still want me to take this useless V Card from you?” He whispers and you feel his cock sliding through your folds, brushing over your clit, making you shiver and moan.  
“Yes, Juice, please,” you answer and hold your breath as you feel the pressure at your entrance.  
“They say it hurts, guess you know that.”  
“I’m a big girl, I heard of it. But I don’t believe old wifes’ tales.”  
“Look at me,” he says, pressing himself by a fraction of an inch deeper into you. “Here it is,” he continues, rocking back and forth against the little barrier. Very soft, very gentle. He could stop now and nothing would’ve happened. “Feel it?”  
You nod and sigh: “Go on, Juice. Please.”  
He closes your mouth with a kiss and you expect him to push into you in the moment your lips meet. But he doesn’t. The kiss is gentle and hungry, and lasts like forever, the feeling of the tip of his cock in you nearly making you crazy. You want more, it’s too less, you need this feeling everywhere. He caresses your tits, flanks, the top of your head, your thighs, everywhere he can reach you, petting you into a kind of deep relaxation, in a state of calm waiting, kissing, enjoying.  
It’s a one second long sharp tug and he’s in you, balls deep, and he ends the kiss. Startled you open your eyes, taking a deep breath, seeing in his smiling face.  
“That’s it. You good?”  
You nod, not able to speech. It’s a very unique feeling, a very special one, somehow strange and so good at the same time. In a different way from you’ve imagined, but not bad.  
“See?” He grins smugly, “You can park a hummer in a very small spot without causing a catastrophe.”  
“Yeah, but that’s just because your cock has no outside mirrors, Ortiz.”  
He laughs, a full body laugh, causing some friction deep in you.  
“Oh!” You moan, “Oh! Juice!”  
“Good or bad?” He asks, grinning.  
“Good! So good!”  
“Yeah, it is. So, I’m going to bang the queen of bang-bang parking, right?”  
“Ex-Queen. I had some very good driving ... oh, my god!”  
He moves and the feeling he causes is so strong, so good you can’t be smart-ass anymore. All you can be right now is ... a woman. 

 

**Seven years later**

First you notice the weapon. Then you see it’s Juice. The cashier gives him the money with shaking hands and Juice turns around to the two other costumers and you. Yeah, it’s Juice. He’s bald, wearing a black hoodie, no kutte.  
“Wallets!” He barks and you hand him yours, looking him in the eyes.  
“Juice”, you mouth, soundless and he flinches.  
For a second he stares at you before turning to the others, collecting their wallets. He runs out of the store without looking back. The cashier grabs the phone, calling 911. And you? You leave, not waiting for the police. You have nothing to say. 

A week down the road, around midnight, there’s a knock at your patio door and you smile. You know who’s standing out there.  
“Hey,” you say, opening the door, letting him in.  
“Hey,” he answers, nervous and bumpy, stepping from one foot on the other.  
“No need to be nervous,” you smile, “I’m with you.”  
“Here ... here are your cards. I ... didn’t use them.” He says, sounding hoarse.  
Juice hands you the wallet he stole from you and you take it back, placing it on the table.  
“Sit down. Need a place to stay tonight? Are you hungry? Do you need a ... shot?”  
He shakes his head, sitting down on your couch, not able to look you in the eyes. You take a seat at his side, taking him in your embrace, placing his head on your shoulder.  
“What happened to my favorite mechanic?” You whisper, caressing his back.  
“I missed you,” he states and you feel, deep in your heart, that he’s broken, completely broken, shattered into pieces. “I missed you,” he repeats, sobbing.  
“I missed you too. Tell me, what happened? Why did you rob a grocery store? You helped me back then, maybe I can help you now?”  
You place a kiss on his head, on the tattoo that he’d hidden under his mohawk for years.  
“May I stay?” He whispers, “Just for tonight?”  
You nod, standing up and reaching for him. You lead him into the bedroom, helping him to get rid of his clothes, his boots. Only in shirt and brief boxers he sits on the edge of the four-poster bed, watching you lit the candles.  
“Lay down. Relax,” you whisper, “We’ll figure something out.”  
He nods and does as he’s told.  
“It turned out that I’m a horrible person,” he says under his breath.  
“No one’s horrible.”  
“I am,” he says – and spill the beans. About every dead and every injured along his way.  
In the morning he’s gone, leaving you with the memories of the summer you were 18 and in love with a mechanic named Juan Carlos. You know you won’t see him again. All the dreams you’ve made were wasted.


	14. Half-Sack 2.0 (Opie/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character teaching Reader how to shoot (Opie/Reader, no smut)

“You said we would have dinner at Enchi’s – and I’m quite sure that this isn’t a new branch of Enchi’s,” you pout, crossing your arms in front of your chest.  
“It isn’t, babe,” Opie answers patiently. “It’s the shooting range. And we’ll have dinner at Enchi’s afterwards.”  
“You should’ve told me, Op, I could’ve brought a book if I had known.”  
“What do you want with a book at a shooting range?” He asks frowning.  
“Reading. As much as I like you it’s terribly boring to watch you firing broadsides on dartboards.”  
“You fire broadsides on corsairs. And there are no dartboards.”  
You roll your eyes and get out of the car.  
“I’ll teach you.”  
“What?” You ask. “How to fire a broadside on a corsair?”  
“If we ever meet a corsair, I do. I’ll teach you how to empty a magazine in the next asshole trying to rape you.”  
“Op ...”, you say, shuddering at the memory. “I don’t want this.”  
“And I don’t want you to be harassed, raped or killed.”  
“Yeah, I don’t want this either. But ...”  
Opie takes your hand in his, leading you over the parking lot to the entrance.  
“Just try it, okay? I want you to be able to ... recall the basics. And I want you to be able to defense yourself.”  
“I would rather do MMA than shoot on somebody.”  
“MMA is a great idea. It’s no mistake to know how to shoot too.”  
“I won’t carry a gun with me.”  
“No need to do so. That’ll I do. So, to cut a long story short: I’ll give you the basics, we’ll have dinner. In this particular order.”  
Opie isn’t a guy you can discuss with. He’s gonna plaque you until you’re able to win the women’s 25 metre pistol competition at the fucking Olympics.  
“Be careful, Opie. If you teach me how to shoot you’ll probably be Half-Sack 2.0 in a few weeks.”  
“Why?”  
“Because of your very sweet habit to rub your morning wood against my ass. Or to place your hand on my tit while sleeping. If you train me to react with gun violence on unexpected sexual touching – say goodbye to your balls, Winston.”  
You could swear he’s getting a bit pale, but he clears his throat and says: “Bullshit. Come on, don’t try to talk yourself outta this. You’ll learn how to shoot.” 

You listen patiently to all the things Opie says and sigh as he gives you finally a gun. Prepared with every possible security procedures you lift the gun and let him correct your stand, your position. You concentrate, just to please him, and finally shoot, after what seemed to be a boring eternity.  
“Not bad,” Opie whistles through his teeth, “are you a natural or was this just luck?”  
You don’t even look, shrugging, preparing to do the second shot all by yourself. You draft to the right without Opie supporting you and he nods, giving more advice. After the fifth try you think you’ve got it.  
“You’re a natural, baby. I’m very proud of you.”  
“And I’m hungry.”  
“One shot left, honey.” Opie grins and you roll your eyes, sighing.  
You take aim, checking your position, making quite a show and shoot.  
“Fuck,” Opie says, looking astonished to the target.  
“Half-Sack 2.0,” you grin. “Can we go and have dinner now? Please?”  
“Everything you want, darling.” Opie smiles and kisses your cheek.  
“Everything? Can I borrow your gun?” You ask innocently and he shakes his head, making a defensive gesture: “Except this. I’m neither crazy nor suicidal, baby.”


	15. The shittiest motel in Arizona (Jax/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #73: Character asking Reader to be his Old Lady (Jax/Reader)

The motel room you’re booked in looks like some scenery of a Columbo classic. Or, maybe, from “Dallas” or “Denver”. Very eighties. The ceiling fan whirs, the fridge is really loud and the wall-to-wall carpet looks like somebody read a “Dallas” script and puked afterwards on the floor. Lying on your belly on the bed, staring at the disgusting carpet you wait for Jax to come out of the bathroom. The run to Oklahoma, to a new-to-be-founded SOA chapter, is fucking long and you’re exhausted. You’re taking turns in driving the van with Half-Sack and you’ll be the happiest woman once you arrive at your destination. Tomorrow evening. The bathroom door opens and Jax, with still damp hair and barefoot (ugh, the carpet!), enters the room.   
“Hey,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed to towel his feet, before joining you on the bed.   
Just like you he turns on his belly, looking over the edge on the carpet.   
“Watcha doin?” He asks and you sigh: “I’m trying to figure out who got killed on this carpet and why. And why the murderer puked afterwards.”  
“Huh?” He asks frowning and you shove him gently: “The carpet looks exactly like that. It’s disgusting. And you walked barefoot, bah!”   
Jax chuckles and suggests: “Remember ‘Death of a Salesman’? Happy Loman?”  
“Yeah, vaguely.”  
“Our Happy Lowman tortured and killed an ammo salesman in here and the cleaning lady puked.”   
“Good idea. Or maybe a quite harmless, but absolutely stunning and beautiful young woman killed her boyfriend because he spent the whole warm water while showering and puked afterwards on the cold, but odorant body because she found out she’s pregnant.” You grin and see Jax flinching.   
“You’re pregnant?” He then asks calmly, staring at the carpet like the answer was written there.   
“Punked! No, I’m not.”   
“My poor heart,” Jax mumbles and you climb off the bed: “That’s a very clean method for killing someone. Heart attack. Happy should take classes.”   
You tiptoe to the bathroom, making disgusted noises, and watch over your shoulder to Jax as he whispers your name.   
“Yeah?”  
“Hey, can I ask you a thing?”  
“Sure. But I don’t think Juice will clean the carpet – he already smoked some weed. He won’t be in the mood for cleaning as he met a girl at the diner, which seems to be willing to lick every square inch of his body. The exact thing, by the way, I’m going to do with you when I’m out of the shower, Mr. Teller.”   
“Sounds exciting.”  
“Good. May I have a shower now?”   
You turn around, looking to the gorgeous blond god on this shitty bed. He’s smiling, very, very happy and pleased.   
“No. I still want to ask a very, very important question.”   
He beams with joy, eyes glistening. He props himself up on his forearms, nodding for you to come back to him. You shake your head, refusing. You won’t go back over this shitty carpet. Bah.   
“You look like you’ve found a unicorn shitting rainbows and gold bars in the shower.” You inform him casually and his smile gets even brighter.   
“Kind of. That’s because I found you, that’s even better.”  
“Thank you. Anything else?”   
“Yeah. The question.”  
“The night will be over if you ...”  
He lifts his hand, interrupting you: “Y/N. Shut up. Will you? Just for a second? Please?”  
You nod, making a summoning gesture.   
“Baby, I want you to be my Old Lady. Would you do me the honor?”  
“Jax Teller. You’re lying naked on a motel bed in the shittiest motel in Arizona ...”  
“New Mexico.”  
“Whatever. You’re lying naked on a motel bed in the shittiest motel in North America and you ask me to be your Old Lady?”  
“Yeah. That’s a quite good summary. But you forgot to highlight the disgusting carpet.”   
“I wasn’t ready yet.”   
“Okay. Then go on.”  
“Uh, I guess I was ready as you spoiled the highlight. Okay, so ...” You smile, “I want to be your Old Lady. I thought you would never ask.”  
“I would have asked much earlier if I would get a word in edgeways,” he grins and you throw a towel after him.   
Runs? Runs are fabulous. Especially with Jax Teller. Your Old Man.


	16. The beast of prey is back (Chibs/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Chibs: #74: Character coming back from jail (Chibs/Reader)

“Filip Telford,” you say, opening your arms for him, “welcome back.”  
“Lass,” he murmurs, stepping in your embrace, “thanks for givin’ me a lift.”   
“What first? A square meal?”  
“A fuck. Missed you, baby,” he whispers at your ear, his tongue trailing your earlobe. Over his shoulder you see the correctional officers at the prison gate watching you.  
“If you take me right here, on the engine hood, you can take your bag and walk back I guess. Indecent behavior.”  
“Nah. Guess we’re driving home first.”  
“Grab something to eat on the way?”   
“I already have something to eat,” he whispers, taking your hand in his, spreading you pointer and middle finger to lick at the fold between the fingers.  
“Chibs ...,” you moan lowly, feeling all the imprisoned butterflies regaining freedom.   
“Get in the car before I feed you my cock, lass,” he whispers and you obey, opening the driver’s door.   
You’ve waited months for him and you know for sure how hungry he is. How badly the beast of prey in him wants to claim you, making you his again.   
“I’ll drive,” he says, waving you to the other side.   
Once you sit you have his hand on your thigh. Warm, strong and safe. How much you missed this. How much you missed him.   
You lean your temple against the window and feel the tears rolling over your cheek.   
“Hey,” he says calmly, “I’m here. Everything’s fine, lass. We’re good, aren’t we?”  
“We are.” You nod, giving him a smile.  
He starts the engine, thoughtfully looking at you.   
“Want me to be gentle tonight?” He asks and once again you’re only able to nod.   
“I’ll be. Whatever you want or need, lass. I love you.”  
“Love you too, Chibs. More than you can imagine.”  
“I know.” He answers, smiling.


	17. The seal (Juice/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #65: Reader getting the Character's crow (Juice/Reader)

“What’s that?” You ask, warily watching the envelope Juice hands you.   
“An envelope. Has your name on it. In every possible meaning.”   
“Huh?”  
You’re frowning, watching the simple white paper with Juice’s handwriting on the front side.   
“Open,” he demands, “that’s not a bomb. It’s just ... a piece of paper.”   
Shrugging you take a piece of paper out, blank white except of a painted picture of a little crow, just a little bit more than one inch squared.   
“What’s that?”  
“A crow.”  
“Yeah, that I know.”  
“It’s my crow,” Juice states calmly. “I want to see this crow on your skin.”  
“It’s not the regular Old Ladies crow.”  
“No. It’s mine.”  
You’d felt that he would ask you to get his crow and you thought a lot about it. You didn’t like the crow tattoo. Way to big and not ... your style somehow. You love every point of ink on Juice’s body – you like tattoos. But not this particular crow tattoo. You have no idea how Juice could’ve known that. You watch the picture closely, it’s very simple, very small, but absolutely beautiful. A fine piece of art, really.   
“I like it,” you state, smiling.   
“Good.” Juice places his hand on the back of your neck, kissing your cheek. “Here,” he continues, applying pressure on your neck.  
“On the back of my neck?” You ask and he nods.  
Your long hair is pinned up in a messy bun, like every day. Juice is the only one to see your hair down and he likes it very much.   
“As you’re wearing your hair always up, everyone will see it. My mark on your neck.”   
You nod slowly, staring at the little crow on the paper. 

You bit your lower lip, making a painful face. It hurts.  
“Nearly done, baby,” Juice whispers, squeezing your hands.   
He sits vis-a-vis, supporting you, whispering sweet nothings. Thank god it’s a really small tattoo, as the procedure hurts as fuck. You notice him smiling at the tattoo artist and the pain lessens. The guy backs up and mumbles a “Ready.”   
He takes a photo and hands you a mirror, showing you the tattoo by holding another mirror in your back, before finishing his work with a thin layer of ointment and a plastic wrap.  
“Love it,” you say. “Thank you.”   
He nods, giving you a small smile and leaves to the front desk.   
“Now you’re mine,” Juice looks you in the eyes and presses his forehead on yours. “Mine forever.”   
You kiss him gently, feeling pleased and fortunate to be his, to make him proud and happy.


	18. The cheese maker (Jax/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #49: Reader and Character meeting in a bar (Jax/Reader)

Tuesday evenings are pretty boring in the bar you’re working. Normally. This Tuesday is somehow different. Nine guests you’ve never seen before entered a few minutes ago and the whole atmosphere changed to something heavy and threatening. They sit at the bar, staring in the mirror behind you, one ordered a cup of coffee, black, no sugar, the others go with beer. About 40 minutes after their arrival they are the only guests. All the other regulars, the habitual drinkers and even Eddy, who practically lives at the counter, are gone.   
This shit isn’t any good, you think and look nervously to the kitchen door, thinking of leaving the bar alone. But then you’ll be jobless. Better jobless than dead ... yeah ... but ... they didn’t do anything so far. They’re taciturn but harmless by now.   
You flinch as the door opens and a whole bunch of new guest steps in, you count about eight or nine. None of them you’ve seen before. Shit. This looks a lot like a gang meeting, probably ending in a shooting. And you’re polishing fucking tumblers in the middle of it. The last one entering the bar turns the “Come in, we’re open” sign around and you swallow hard. Oh, fuck.   
A blonde, really handsome guy with shoulder-length hair greets the waiting crew at the bar and looks at you: “Eight bottles of beer. Keep the change, honey.”  
He hands you 50 Dollars and give the others a sign to sit at the biggest table in the middle of the room. It’s one for ten persons and they leave him a seat, the rest of the guys standing around in the room, eyeballing each other.   
“Thank you,” you say, placing the first bottles of beer on the counter.   
No way you’re gonna leave the space behind the bar.   
“Go,” he whispers smiling, leaning over, staring at your cleavage. “If you wanna see the next sunrise, you better go. Unobtrusive, through the backdoor. And don’t call the cops. Do I make myself clear?”  
“Yeah. Okay,” you answer, nodding.   
“Stop flirting, Teller. We’ve got some work to do,” one of the first guests says.   
“No hurry. She’ll just give me her number and I’m joining you.” Teller says giving you a look.   
You’re writing – stupid and horror-struck as you are – your cell phone number on a piece of paper and hand it over.   
“Wanna fuck her, Teller? You’re so needy?” Another man says snotty and Teller turns around, showing you the back of his leather vest.   
The Reaper looks at you. Sons of Anarchy.   
“Remember Juice and Happy? Sadly they can’t be with us tonight. So, this pretty, innocent looking chick, Juice and Happy joined a gang bang with NINE other guys last month and they speak hardly of anything else since then. I mean, come on! That’s pretty impressive. And now I’m trying my luck. That’s all. Why are you asking? Wanna have a go?” Teller speaks irritatingly loud in this nearly empty bar and you ask yourself if he does this on purpose so someone hidden somewhere can hear it.   
And then you process what he’d said and you don’t know where to look – you have never heard of some guys named Happy and Juice and you for sure never ever were part of a gang bang. What is this guy talking about? Then you remember he told you to get outta here and you head to the kitchen, feeling the interested gazes of nine men in your back.   
The swinging door to the little kitchen creaks and drowns out your own little squeak seeing the two men in the kitchen, weapons in hand. One signs to be silent and you nod.   
“I’m Juice,” he whispers, “this is Happy. Nice to meet you.” He points on his bald companion who looks incredibly displeased.   
Oh. The guys you had a gang bang with and who can’t be here tonight and ... shit ...  
“Please ...” you whisper, and Juice nods: “Out. Run.”   
“One word to the cops and I’ll find you,” the bald man growls lowly and you flee through the backdoor.   
You’re fucked. And they have your phone number. Oh, dammit! 

Three weeks later, just as your boss is allowed to re-open the freshly renovated bar, your phone rings in the moment you’re heading off to work.   
“Hi,” you answer and a male voice answers: “Hi. Jax Teller. We’ve met in a bar a few weeks ago. Remember me?”  
You chuckle: “No. I’m suffering from Alzheimer’s disease and the shock of having my working place turned into a wooden version of an Emmentaler cheese did nasty things with my memory. Who are you?”  
“The cheese maker,” Teller answers dead serious.   
“Oh, the cheese maker with the cheesy gang bangs fantasy?”  
“Exactly. So, are you in the mood to meet me?”  
“For a gang bang? No. For a cup of coffee and a cheese sandwich? Yeah. You owe me one.”  
“Okay. I’m gonna come to the bar later.”  
He ends the call without saying good bye and you stare at the phone. You have a date with Jax Teller, Sons of Anarchy member. You must be one cheese sandwich short of a picnic, girl. You grin and looking forward to it. The guy’s gorgeous.


	19. Lughnasadh (Chibs/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #65: Reader getting the Character's crow

“Lass?” Chibs calls as he comes home and you answer: “In the kitchen, babe!”  
“What the hell is this?” He asks, gesturing to the mess on the kitchen table, taking his kutte off.  
“Tattoo catalogs and magazines. I want to have a new one, covering the damn wedding date up.”  
Chibs grins like he always does when you’re speaking of your fucked up marriage with Julian, the cheating asshole. He takes a seat at your side, grabbing your bottle of beer and takes a sip.  
“I thought about something based on Lonassah and ...”  
“Based on what?” Chibs asks and you repeat: “Lonassah. Isn’t that the right word?”  
“Lughnasadh,” he says slowly and accentuated. “It’s called Lughnasadh. Say Lammas, it’s easier.” He points at your breast, where you can read “2010-01-05”, which was your wedding date. “Covering up one guy with another isn’t the really clever way, don’t ya think? Plus: May 1 is Beltane, not Lughnasadh.”  
You shrug: “I want to cover it up. Soon. I don’t wanna see this anymore when I look in the mirror. And I don’t wanna think at Beltane. If I want to think on May 1, I could save the money for a new tattoo. We met in August back then, remember?”  
You smile at him, a gentle, loving smile which he returns. A few minutes all is silent and he watches you sort through the magazines and catalogs.  
“What about a crow?” He asks.  
“Your crow?”  
“No. Saint Patrick’s crow.” He rolls his eyes and grabs the phone from the table. “I’m calling Happy. Tomorrow you’ve got that covered up. And we can use our time for something more pleasant.”

24 hours later you stare at the crow over your heart, at the same spot Gemma wears hers. Happy’s work is perfect and you love it. Love it. Love it. You take a selfie and send it to Julian, no comment, just the photo.  
“What are you doing?”  
“Showing my crow to the world.”  
“Good. Tomorrow we’ll go shopping. You need new tops, showing more of your cleavage.” Chibs grins, placing a kiss on your shoulder.  
“Love you, old man,” you whisper.  
“Love you too.”


	20. That's all (Happy x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You make me feel like I'm not good enough (Happy x Reader)

The deep groan when he spills his seed into your pussy is always the beginning of the end. You cling on him, trying to hold him, to make him stay, but he’s too strong to notice your desperate try to keep him near.  
He’s finished, satisfied, he goes. As ever. He once has been a one night stand. Then a two night stand. Three, four, five. Twenty. 141. 292. You have no idea how often he’d fucked you but your thing goes on for years now. Back then it was cool. He visited you, lead you straight to the bedroom, fucked you by all tricks of the book and was gone, barely waiting for your breathing going back to normal.  
But meanwhile you feel used, lonely, like shit when he’s gone. He stayed not once, not for one whole night in all these years. No cuddling, no gentle words. Pure fucking, barely speaking to you. Sometimes you tried to talk but his answers are short spoken. You feel like an idiot when you tell him about your friends and family, about your work and he lies at your side, watching you with this piercing glare, waiting for you to shut up and turn around so he can take you from behind. In the last months you’ve asked yourself if he has someone he talks to, a woman who’s good enough for all the cuddling and interesting enough for a talk.  
“Fuck,” he mouths, eyes closed, shuddering.  
He waits until the last wave of pleasure rushed through him, pulls back and gets up. Your arms sink limply on the bed and you watch him adjusting himself in his boxers.  
“Happy?” You ask and he stops in the motion, looking at you.  
“I ... I ...,” you stutter, sitting up. “I can’t do this anymore. I guess. I ... don’t know.”  
He nods, sitting down on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. You see the smiling faces on his stomach, counting them, like so often. Eight, when you met him for the first time, right now there are 16. So many time, so many smiling faces. You still wonder what this means to him but you never ask.  
“Met someone else?” He asks and you gasp as he takes your hand in his.  
“No.” You shake your head, staring at his hand holding yours.  
“Not?” He looks puzzled and you shrug: “I ... I just can’t ...”  
“Why not?”  
“You make me feel like I’m not good enough, Happy.” You whisper, totally ashamed.  
“Not good enough?”  
“Yeah.”  
“We see each other for ... dunno ... years now.” He states, shrugging.  
“We don’t see each other, Happy. We fuck. And ... and I can’t do this anymore. You barely talk to me and ... there’s no ...” You stop yourself, wiping tears from your cheeks.  
“I’m not that big of a talker,” he says and you feel his thumb petting gently over your wrist.  
“And not that big of a cuddler, right? You fuck me and leave in an instant. I feel like I’m a ... a gratis whore.”  
“You want some cuddling after sex?” He asks, watching you with disbelieve. “That’s all? That’s the problem?”  
“Yeah.” You answer. “Cuddling and talking. I don’t ask for ... a bunch of flowers or a goddamn diamond ring, I just want you to ... to stay longer than five seconds after you’re finished.”  
“I always thought you don’t like it. You’ve never asked for it.”  
He crawls back at your side, pulling you on his chest, covering you both with the blanket. He turns off the light and then you feel him embracing you completely.  
“Good?” He asks and you nod: “Yeah. Thank you. But if you don’t want ...”  
“I want. Tell me, how was your day? How’s your sister doing? Everything’s okay with the baby?”  
Once again you wipe the tears from your cheek. He stays. This easy. And he listens when you talk to him. Taking a deep breath you close your eyes and tell him what he wants to know.


	21. Jealousy Smurf (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wait a second, are you jealous? (Juice x Reader)

“Juice?” You ask in front of the closed bathroom door, knocking on the door frame.   
“Already in the bedroom, baby.”   
You find him going through the drawers, obviously searching for specific boxer shorts.   
“What are you searching for?”  
“The black Hilfiger boxer shorts, you know, the tight one?”  
“On the clothesline, Juice.”  
“Fuck,” he whispers, making a face, thinking about which boxer shorts to wear else.   
“Pamela called.”  
“A-ha.”   
“She asked me to remind you of the lunch tomorrow.”  
“Okay,” he answers absent-mindedly and you frown irritated.   
“The lunch. At Jackie’s Gardens. She’d made a reservation and she looks forward to eat with her little angel Juan.” You say waspishly.   
“Mhm, yeah,” he says, folding boxer shorts and packing them closely in the drawer.   
“Juice, would you mind listen to me when I talk to you?”  
He turns around, a smile on his lips: “Sorry.”   
You shake your head a bit, rolling your eyes: “Pamela made reservations at Jackie’s Gardens. Lunch, tomorrow.”  
“Uh ...” Juice answers and looks to the floor for a second, before shuddering and turning his attention back to the drawer again.  
Is he caught? Ashamed? Amused? Is the neatly folding of the underwear some kind of substitute act?  
You don’t know which it is, so you decide to wait. Leaning in the door frame you watch him fold his underwear.   
“I guess tomorrow morning they’re dry.” You state friendly.   
“Huh?” He asks, giving you a confused look.   
“The boxers.” Now you’re sounding pissed. “Pamela surely appreciates your tight Hilfiger shorts.”   
“Pamela?”  
“Yeah. The bitch you’re eating lunch with.”  
He closes the drawer, a big grin on his face, stepping nearer.   
“Wait a second, are you jealous?”   
You shrug, playing cool and disinterested.   
“Pamela,” he says, the grin on his face getting bigger, “Pamela is a patron of TM. Her husband bought her a ragtop old-timer for her 65th birthday. I’m her mechanic. That’s all. She’s got a little crush on me and thinks she’s still 21 and dresses herself like a college girl. But the lunch tomorrow is her 66th birthday and I will not be a part of it. Not only because I eat my lunch at home. With my beautiful woman.”   
You smile and take his hand in yours: “For what do you need the Hilfiger boxers if not to excite Pamela?”  
“I like them, jealousy smurf. I just like them.”   
He leans in for a kiss and you mumble an apology.


	22. Post stamp (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The skirt is supposed to be this short. (Juice x Reader)

You head to the front door but Juice grabs your arm.  
“Babe, you forgot something important.” He says, looking concerned.  
“You get a kiss, Juan Carlos. Don’t panic,” you answer, breezing a kiss on his lips.  
“No. You forgot to put on some ... pants,” he answers, kissing you back. “You sure you feel okay? Can you get an Alzheimer’s disease this early?”  
“Are you kidding me?” You ask, frowning, looking down on your legs.  
You lift the fluttery, long top you’re wearing to expose your new, mini skirt. Yeah, it’s there.  
“What the hell?” Juice asks, “What the hell is this?”  
“A skirt.”  
“That’s not a skirt. That’s a post stamp. Or a tissue. Not more. Did it shrink in the wash?”  
“No. The skirt is supposed to be this short, baby.”  
“You can’t go out like this. Everyone will see your pussy when you sit down.”  
“I wear panties.” You say patiently. “No one will see anything, because I’m usually closing my legs while sitting. I’m neither Happy nor Jax nor John Wayne, babe.”  
“Show me,” he demands and you sigh: “I’m in a hurry, Juice. The girls waiting for me and ...”  
“Show me. Don’t show, don’t go.”  
Throwing your hands up in a gesture of desperation you walk in the kitchen and take a seat, carefully, with closed legs.  
“A-ha. Mhm.” Juice stares at your legs, nodding absent-mindedly. “Where do you go tonight?”  
“Hillside Bar. Why?”  
“I guess I’m going out for a drink too. I’ll have a beer or two at the Hillside Bar.”  
“I see. After having a drink we’re going to go to the movies, watching some giggly chick flick movie. Just for your information.”  
“Great. I really have a thing for Kate Hobson.”  
“Kate Hudson.”  
“Yeah, whatever. I like her. She wears skirts that are long enough to cover her pussy. Which is, when I think of it, a crying shame.”  
“She isn’t in the movie,” you state, feeling slightly amused.  
“There’s a chick flick movie without Kate Hobson? I have to see it. Let’s go.”  
“You’re a dork, Juan Carlos.”  
“And you’re wearing a tissue pretending to be a skirt. You’re the dork, baby.”  
He slaps your ass as you walk out of the kitchen, and takes one of his jackets from the coat rack. Silently he turns you around, binding the black sweater jacket around your hips.  
“Much better,” he says, bluntly ignoring your sigh. “Come on, go. The girls are waiting.”


	23. The barbecue (Happy x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I'm tired of being your secret (Happy x Reader)

“We can’t meet on Saturday, Hap. It’s Jake’s birthday and he plans a big barbecue with family, friends, neighbors – and he invited Monica too.”  
“Concubine Monica?” Happy asks, frowning.  
“Yeah. I don’t know how to feel about it, because ... although our marriage only exists on the papers and for the kids anymore we ... we didn’t talk about our new loves. And now he brings her to his birthday, introducing her as a new friend of the family.”  
“I think it’s cool,” Happy says, “it’s the next step.”  
“Yeah, maybe,” you answer lowly, hiding your face on his bare chest, inhaling his scent and the added smell of sex and sweat. 

On Saturday the garden is full of people, chatting, eating, having fun. Jake invited around 50 guests and everyone came. Your perfect marriage, your perfect household and your perfect barbecues are legendary. A-ha-ha-ha. God, if all these people would know that Jake fucks Monica for at least three years and that you have an affair with a biker for almost two years now – they all would leave in an instant.  
The laughter of the kids is mixed with the barking of the dogs and the sound of many people talking to each other. It’s perfect. Like the facade you’re living. You sit on a bench, vis-a-vis Jake and Monica, listen to her listing the ingredients of the really good potato salad she brought. Suddenly someone takes a seat at your side and you turn your head to give him or her at least a smile. You freeze as you’re getting aware who it is.  
“Hi,” Happy says, giving Jake and Monica one of his rare smiles. “Happy Lowman.”  
“Hi,” your husband answers. “I’m Jake. This is Monica. Nice to meet you. There’s a lot of beer and booze, steaks, salads, desserts – just help yourself, okay?”  
“Thanks.” Happy gives Jake a short nod, the smile already gone again.  
“Hap!” You hiss. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”  
“I’m tired of being your secret,” he states and puts his arm around your shoulder, kissing you on the temple.  
You see Jake smiling, doing the same with Monica.  
“I’ll go for something to eat,” Happy says like he has been part of your day-to-day-life forever. “Another beer, honey?”  
You nod speechless and Jake smiles: “Hey, Happy, can you bring one for me too, please?”  
“Sure thing.” Happy gets up and leaves for the buffet.  
“We should’ve done this earlier,” Jake says, looking you in the eyes. “Are you good with a divorce?”  
“I am,” you answer, feeling a burden taken of your soul. “Yeah, I am.”


	24. Time to change (Happy x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Who gave you that black eye?! (Happy x Reader)

The Golden Palms Inn is, in contrast to its name, a really shitty place. But it’s okay to stay when you have to lick your wounds, to nurse yourself to be presentable again. The owner doesn’t give a shit for ID cards so you can check in under a false name – if you pay cash and in advance. Your personal lockdown lasts for 3 days now and you still look like someone’s beaten the shit outta you. No wonder as this is what has happened.  
You flinch as the door to your room opens – the room lacks of everything, including a “Do not disturb” sign for the door. Sitting up on the bed you expect a cleaning lady, the first one in three days. But who’s coming in isn’t here for cleaning.  
“What the hell?” You whisper, looking away from the door to hide your bruised face.  
“I could ask the same. Who gave you that black eye?” Happy asks, closing the door behind him.  
“How did you find me?” You want to know, still not looking at him.  
You hear him coming nearer, see his boots standing in front of you. His right hand touches your chin and he turns your head gently to have a look at you.  
“Juice localized your cell phone. Did Jerry beat you up? Again?”  
“It’s nothing to worry about. We had a fight and I ... threw a spoon after him.”  
“You threw a spoon and he beat you up like this? You look like shit.”  
“Thank you, Hap.” You scoff. “Very comforting.”  
“I worried about you. You didn’t answer your phone.” He says, his voice unusually gentle, brushing with his finger over your bruised jaw line.  
“Yeah ... I ... I just wanted time to think. To be by myself and heal.”  
“That’s a shame. Stay here. I’ll be back in ... about two hours.”  
“What are you doing?”  
“Nothing you need to worry about. Just stay here. Do you need something? Food? Any make-up shit? Clothes? Tell me, I’ll bring it.”  
“Food would be ... great. Thank you.”  
He gives you a short nod and is gone, as fast as he came. 

Two hours later you hear two male voices arguing, Happy’s raspy tone and some whiningly pleading. The door opens and Happy shoves Jerry into your motel room. He places a bag from the grocery store on the little table and you see that he’s got a gun in his hand.  
“Here we are, with some food, as promised,” he says, pressing Jerry down on his knees.  
You see he’s beaten up, just like you. He cries, tears streaming over his face. The way he holds his right forearm tells you it’s most likely broken.  
“Happy ...,” you whisper, “what are you doin?”  
Happy ignores you, his piercing stare on Jerry who looks up to his kidnapper with absolute horror in his gaze.  
“Go on. You’ve got work to do.” Happy demands, pressing the big black gun at your husband’s temple.  
Jerry winces and states, barely understandable because of his sobbing: “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I’m an asshole and I don’t deserve you. Please, forgive me that I treated you like shit and ... please tell him that ...”  
“Shut up!” Happy barks and pulls him back on his feet.  
“Y/N!”, Jerry shouts, “He’s gonna kill me! Please tell him to leave me alone! Please!”  
“Happy ...”  
“Eat, baby, take a shower. I’m back in a few hours and then we’ll talk, okay?”  
“Please, Happy, don’t ...” You say, nodding to your husband who’s still sobbing and pleading for his life.  
He gives you a small smile and shakes his head before leading Jerry out of the motel room. 

About two hours later you get a text message from Happy.  
“The time of black eyes is over. Time to wear some black clothes. And after that: Time for Happy-ness.”  
Sitting on the bed you stare into nothing, not knowing what to feel.


	25. Beautiful (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: When are you going to realize that I don't care? (Juice x Reader)

Every time his mouth reaches your belly button you pull him back, leading him to your mouth again. You do this forever, with every man you’ve ever had. No man should ever have a close look on your private parts. Or – perish the thought! – a whiff. That was part of the parenting style your mother lived. Good catholic and a bigger prude than the pope himself.  
“Please,” Juice whispers, “I want it so badly. You’ll like it, I promise. Let’s give it a try and if you really can’t stand it, I’ll stop immediately.”  
“That’s so wrong,” you answer, hiding your face. “It’s ugly and it doesn’t smell good.”  
Juice sighs. You’ve lead this conversation many times before.  
“It isn’t ugly. Heterosexual men – and I happen to be one – are designed to find the private parts of a woman beautiful. Your pussy feels perfect, looks perfect and, I’m absolutely sure about this, tastes perfect. Please, baby, give it a try. Don’t you think I would ask like a thousand times if I don’t really, really want it?”  
“I’ve learned it’s ugly and no man should ever ...”  
“When are you going to realize that I don’t care?” Juice asks, his fingers parting your folds. “It looks like a flower. Or a ... a fruit I’m eager to try. And you smell good. Really. Men like the fragrance of a woman’s sex. It’s alluring and I could easily get addicted on your smell.”  
“I don’t know, Juan. It’s ... it’s shameful and I’m afraid you don’t like it.” Your hips are bucking against his finger circling around your clit.  
“I like it. See?” With his free hand he grabs your panties from the sheets and sniff at it, pressing the crotch against his nose.  
“Oh, my god, Juan!” You shriek, tearing the panties out of his face, his hands.  
“Fuck, you smell so good,” he grins, starting his journey over your body again, while fingering you by every trick of the book.  
“No,” you whisper as he passes your belly button. “No, please, Juice, don’t do it.”  
“Shall I stop?” He asks under his breath, adding more pressure on your clit, flicking over it, adding a third finger into your pussy and crook them, massaging your sweet spot.  
“No, no, please, don’t stop!” You pant, clenching the sheets, searching for some hold.  
“That’s the deal for today. If my mouth has to stop my fingers will stop too. Want me to go on?”  
“Oh, shit! Juice, that’s blackmailing!”  
“Yeah. Report it, if you like. I’m a bad boy, remember? So, want me to make you cum on my fingers or not?”  
You open your eyes, seeing his grin, his chin resting on your pubis. You’re so close, so damn close and he has you where he wants you. He tricked you into consent, you guess, but you don’t care anymore. Not now.  
“Please ...,” you whimper, “please!”  
“Please what?”  
“Go on, I’m so close, please!”  
“So I’m allowed to bury my face between your legs to smell you and to taste you?”  
“Yes, yes, oh, god! Juice!”  
You scream with lust as he parts your folds with his free hand and licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit.  
“Juice!”  
The feeling his tongue on your clit causes sends you immediately over the edge, in a hard and strong orgasm. You feel him licking every square inch of your vulva, your labia, avoiding your clit, while his fingers fuck you lazily and slow.  
“You’ve got a minute to recover, then I’m gonna make you cum again, by eating you out only. Because I love your taste. I’m addicted, Y/N. I’m hooked. And when I’m ready with you tonight, you’re gonna be hooked on my tongue too, so hooked that you’re gonna call your mother and tell her what a prude she is, what a great experience she has missed. And that you are sorry for her.”  
“Juice ...,” you sigh, letting go of the sheets and placing your hands on his head, caressing his scalp. “You deprave me.”  
“I do. It’s my pleasure.” He grins and flicks with the tip of his tongue over your clit.


	26. Cellu-screw-it (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Those things you said yesterday ... Did you mean them?" (Juice x Reader)

“Hey, Y/N.” Juice says, stepping through the open door, “Have a minute?”  
You nod, gesturing to the empty tables of the Sandwich shop you’re working in: “Sure. Take a seat. Wanna have a sandwich? We offer a new one with roasted fennel and falafel. It’s really good.”  
“No, thanks. Maybe later.”  
“Okay. What’s the matter?” Going around the corner of the bar you grab the coffee pot and two mugs.  
“Thanks,” Juice smiles as you place a mug in front of him.  
Taking a seat you sigh deeply. Still six hours before you can close and go home.  
“Where’s Soraya?” Juice asks, looking around in the empty shop.  
“Oh, are you here for her?” You ask, feeling the frustration hitting you like a freight train.  
Soraya’s a waitress by day, a crow eater at night. She invited you to join some club parties and you joined, spending some hours with talking to Juice. You’ve got a little, no, honestly a big crush on him. But you’re not his type, you guess. Surrounded by beautiful girls all night he won’t consider someone like you. Actually you don’t even know why you are joining the biker parties. Most likely loneliness and some kind of masochism, maybe. Seeing all the girls making out with a lot of men hurts you very much. But it’s like a horrible traffic accident - you just can’t look away.  
“Soraya’s ill. Too much booze yesterday, I guess. If you want to talk to her you have to visit her at home,” you state, shrugging.  
“No, I was searching for you and I’m glad running across to you alone,” Juice says, looking earnest.  
Uh. What’s that supposed to mean? Did the club send him to ask you not to join their parties anymore? Because they don’t like you around? Because you’re too ugly and to restrained to be part of a biker party?  
“Oookay,” you say slowly, looking intensely on the table top.  
“So, uhm ...,” Juice searches for words, “those things you said yesterday ... Did you mean them?”  
“What?” You ask, frowning, giving him a confused look. “Which things?”  
“I heard you talking to Lyla.”  
“Wasn’t that okay?” You ask, still thinking he came to reprimand you.  
“Of course it was. I’ve been outside for some fresh air and I overheard your conversation. You didn’t notice me. I’m sorry, by the way, I didn’t mean to ... spy on you.”  
“Yeah ...,” you say, shrugging. “And?”  
“Did you mean that?”  
“Mean what?”  
“That you feel short and ugly. That you fear of being a desperate housewife with a bunch of kids from different fathers because you’re so hungry for love that you fall for the biggest assholes, getting pregnant over and over again just to hold them. And that you’re gonna fail, left alone with your kids, overstrained and a finalist for the world’s worst mother award.”  
“Oh, my god ...,” you whisper, hiding your face in your hands.  
You’ve come close with Lyla – you never thought something like this would be possible, because she’s so damn beautiful and so cool, such a kind-hearted and sweet person. Last night you’ve had a serious breakdown, crying your heart out to her. And Juice heard your miserable whining. Epic. Truly epic. God, you want the ground to swallow you up.  
“Do you really think this?”  
“Yes.” Lying is useless as he heard your sobbing last night too.  
You were barely able to form the words in a few sentences, crying in Lyla’s arms like a baby.  
“Why?”  
“Do you really have to ask?”  
Juice cocks his head, watching you thoughtfully: “Yeah. Cause I don’t get it.”  
“I’m at least 20 pounds overweight, if not more.” You tip on your thumb to count down all your faults and imperfections.  
“Stop.” He lifts his hand to interrupt you. “If you like something you can’t have enough of it.”  
“Yeah, sure,” you scoff, shaking your head. “My hair looks like shit, my face looks like shit, I wear second hand clothes because I can’t afford new ones because of my shitty job. In a goddamn Sandwich shop.” Pointer, middle, ring and little finger follow the thumb.  
A handful of insecurities.  
“It’s work someone has to do. And you’re great in selling sandwiches. I’m great in fixing cars. So what? And no, you don’t look like shit.”  
“I have cellulitis. For example.”  
“If there’s one thing men don’t care about in the whole wide world, than it is ... this. Men can’t even pronounce this flim flam. Cellu-screw-it.  
“Cellulitis.” You repeat and he grins: “Cellu-screw-it.”  
You look up from the table top as a costumer enters the shop. Juice nods with his head to the counter, signaling he waits until you’re done. While making a chicken yam sandwich you feel Juice watching you. The costumer, a guy in his 20s, pays the sandwich and Juice asks: “Hey, buddy, I just had a discussion with this beautiful lady. Maybe you can help. So, uhm, do you care if a woman has ... what’s the word, Y/N?”  
“Cellulitis.” You say, blushing.  
“What’s that?” Your costumer asks. “Is this the ... skin thing women think so much about?”  
“Yeah.”  
“No. I don’t care at all.”  
“Thanks, dude.” Juice smiles and the man leaves.  
For five or six seconds the shop is silent. You sigh and take a seat at the table again.  
“See?” Juice asks, “He didn’t care about cellu-screw-it. Neither do I.”  
“My cellulitis ...”  
“Cellu-screw-it. Repeat after me.”  
“Cellu-screw-it,” you repeat, smiling, “my cellu-screw-it isn’t anything that would concern you.”  
“If I would ask you on four or five or maybe ten dates, it maybe would concern me, what it doesn’t because I don’t care. Uh, that’s fucked up.” He makes a face and laughs.  
Your mouth gaps open and you for sure look like a fish with the shittiest hairdresser in all of the seven seas, but you manage an answer: “You want a date?”  
“That’s why I’m here.”  
“Oh ...,” you whisper, blushing. “Is this ... uhm ... hidden camera? Or ... or a cheat?”  
“No. When do you clock off today?”  
“At seven,” you answer.  
“Okay. Plans for tonight? It’s Saturday, so ... wanna come with me to the SAMCRO party tonight? But I won’t share you with Lyla, just to make this clear.”  
He smiles, this fantastic smile, and you nod. You just nod. You’re not able to manage more.


	27. Rise and shine (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Did you enjoy yourself last night?" (Juice x Reader)

The clubhouse looks like there has been an earthquake last night, an indoor earthquake. The remains of the party littered all over the bar. You turn on the light and there he is: Passed out, sleeping like a log on the pool table, some half-naked chick draped over his back.   
“Good morning, Juan Carlos,” you whisper in his hear, pinching his nasal septum hard with two fingers, pressing your fingernails in his nasal mucosa. “Rise and shine!”  
“Ah, shit!” He mumbles, shaking his head to get rid of your fingers and the pain they’re causing.   
He moans and you stop pinching him. His eyes still closed, he makes some smacking noises, rubbing over his nose to ease the pain. The chick behind him doesn’t move. She’s sleeping. Juice feels for his offender, finding your thigh in the process, sliding up and before you can even react he reaches your pussy. You grab his wrist and remove his hand.   
“Baby?” He asks and you can’t help but smile: “Duh, you recognized me on my pussy?”   
“No,” he carks, clearing his throat, eyes still closed. “No one but you would pinch my nose like this.”   
“You know the bitch sleeping on your back good enough to know that she wouldn’t?”  
“Which bitch?” He asks, opening one eye, rolling with his shoulders. “Ah, fuck!” He hisses as he’s getting aware of the weight on his back. “Isn’t this Half-Sack?”  
“You sleep like this with Half-Sack? Interesting, very interesting,” you answer with a smile and continue: “No, this isn’t Half-Sack. It’s a blonde bimbo pressing her tits on the back of my man.”  
“Shit!” He whispers. “Sorry.”  
Now his eyes are open and you see how red they are.   
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” You ask and he sits up, the bimbo so passed out that she doesn’t even move a muscle let alone wake up.   
“No. Missed you. That’s your entire fault. You weren’t here to tell me when to stop. You should’ve brought me home and took me to bed. Where were you last night?”  
“I cancelled my night shift to sleep with some random guy I met on the street on our kitchen counter.”  
“I hate him,” Juice mumbles, rubbing over his face and taking a look over his shoulder. “I didn’t touch her, you know that, right?”   
“Yeah, I know. Come on, I’ll bring you home. I’m tired as fuck and I want to go to bed.” You reach with your hand for him and he takes it.   
“Do you think I could join you and have some more sleep when we’re at home?” He asks raspy, and continues lowly at your ear: “With my head on your chest?”  
“No. I was the one who worked the whole night, you were the one who had all the fun. I’m gonna sleep on your chest, are we clear?”  
“Crystal.” He gives you a short nod, smiling.   
“But you have to take a shower first. You smell like a boozed bimbo.”   
“Okay. Thanks. Baby?”  
“Mhm?” You ask, open the door and lead him into the bright light of the very early morning.   
“I love you.”  
“Love you too, Juice. And no, you’re gonna brush your teeth first before getting a kiss. You don’t even have to ask.”   
“Fuck!” He whispers, making a face. “Can we hurry up a bit? I have to take a shower and brush my teeth so badly.”   
You laugh, placing your arm around his waist. You know, tonight he’s yours alone. And he’s gonna make it up to you, in a way the blonde bimbo can only dream about.


	28. The Prince is coming (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I don't know what I did to deserve you (Juice x Reader)

It’s too hot to sleep and you kicked your blanket away. Between Juice’s chest and your back a thin film of sweat has set, but he won’t let you out of his embrace. The alarm clock shows 1 a.m. and you sigh deeply. Your sacrum hurts for hours now, the pain comes and goes, plaguing you, keeping you awake.   
“Relax, baby. You think too much,” Juice whispers, caressing your upper arm.   
“I can’t stop.”  
“I know, honey, I know.”  
“Tell me a story, Juice, please,” you request, intertwining your fingers with his.   
He clears his throat and whispers near your ear: “There once was a thug, a big gun in the ganglands, a textbook example of a badass ...”  
“Show-off,” you smile, shoving him gently.   
“Shh, listen. He fought with depression and OCD, he was lonely and yeah, quite pitiable and miserable. One day he met a princess at heart, banished by her father, because she devoted herself to a very respectable knight. The knight knocked her up and left her alone and as her father found out she was pregnant with the knight’s baby, he chased her away. She moved to a town called Charming and searched for a job. She got one, at some ramshackle movie production firm named CaraCara. She worked there as a secretary and one day, as the thug came to the office, she was standing behind her desk, caressing her perfect round, beautiful belly with the knight’s baby in it. She had the phone at her ear and said ...” Juice pauses and goes on, disguising his voice: “’The only one who needs a big fat 22 inches dildo up in his ass is you, Sir. Get a life, asshole.’”  
You chuckle, remembering the day and the asshole who called like a thousand times to date one of the performers.   
“She ended the call, poking her tongue out to the phone. Then she noticed the smirking thug and she smiled, a wonderful, desperate smile. ‘I hate this job, but nonetheless I’d love to help you. What can I do for you?’, she asked and the thug said: ‘Come with me to my ganglands kingdom, sweet princess. I’ll carry you to the ends of the earth and ...’”  
“You said something like ‘Uh, I’m Juice. Clay sent me to have an eye on Tig who’s supposed stocktaking the sex toys. Have you seen him?’ and I answered: ‘Yeah. He’s in the store-room. The door is locked. Wouldn’t go in there, if I were you. You’re too late, I guess.’”  
“Tssss!”, Juice hisses, “Do you want to hear a story or not?”  
“I want.”  
“Okay. So, the thug – an adorable, very handsome guy, by the way – took the princess with him, on a steel horse, and a short time later she moved in his apartment castle. One night her water broke and he took her to the hospital, not leaving her side while she gave birth to the most beautiful baby the world has ever seen – and that’s just because little Allegra looks exactly like her mom and has nothing from her asshole knight father. And then, two years later, the thug planted his seed in the belly of the princess and now a little prince is on the way, plaguing his mommy in the night, doesn’t let her sleep.”  
Juice’s hand wanders to your round belly, caressing it and you feel your son kicking against his father’s hand.   
“The thug retired from being a thug and works as a mechanic at a garage, looking forward to see his little prince in ... about two weeks.”   
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper, placing your hand over his.   
“No. I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Juice answers. “Thugs might be big guns in the ganglands, but they’re nobody’s on the princess single market. So, the thug was very, very lucky to find the love of his life and ...,” Juice interrupts himself, hissing: “What the fuck?”  
At the same time you hold your breath, squealing: “Juice!”  
He removes his thigh from yours and his hand leaves your belly, feeling for the sheets and your inner thighs.   
“What the fuck?” He repeats, “What the fuck was that? The sheets are soaking wet, baby.”   
“My water broke, Juice.” You whisper, “The prince is coming.”


	29. Pisces, ascendant Sagittarius (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'm sorry if this upsets you, but I'm going to marry him/her." (Juice x Reader)

Calling your mother is, in this special case, the last thing in the world you’d like to do. But Juice insisted, threatening you with cancelling the honeymoon if you refuse to do the right thing. And that is, unfortunately, calling your mother. You put the call on speaker so Juice can hear what she has to say.  
“This is Freyja. I’m not in the mood. Leave a message.”  
“Freyja?” Juice whispers, “Your mom’s name isn’t Freyja. Who did you call?”  
“My mom. She thinks she’s the reincarnation of Freyja, the norse goddess of beauty, love and sex.”  
“Uh,” Juice hisses and you say: “Mom, this is Y/N. Answer the fucking phone.”  
“Baby!” The voice of your mother comes through the speakers. “I knew you would call. The ghost of your great grandmother told me the other week I would hear from you soon. And that you have terrible news. So, I’m sitting and I took some anti-shock-globules. Go ahead.”  
Great. Shit.  
“Yeah, uhm ... the thing is ... I’ve met a man and ...”  
“Zodiac sign?”  
“Pisces.”  
“Ascendant?” She asks and you have no idea.  
From the puzzled look on Juice’s face you know that he has no idea too.  
“Uhm, Sagittarius,” you choose, instantly knowing that this was the wrong choice.  
“That’s bad. If not to say horrible.”  
“Yeah, you know, I don’t give a fuck on this zodiac bullshit and ...”  
Juice takes your hand, petting the back, giving you an encouraging smile.  
“He’s bad for you. Call it off.”  
“I’m sorry if this upsets you, but I’m going to marry him, mom.”  
“Oh, holy vanirs, help me!”  
“Tomorrow we’re getting married. His name is Juan Carlos Ortiz. He’s from Queens and he’s working as a mechanic at a garage.”  
“Did you ask the pendulum?”  
“No.”  
“Mail me his background check, his family tree, everything. I’m gonna ask about him on Sunday, at the next family constellations session with Ivan. Don’t marry him before I checked out his invisible loyalties, do you understand?”  
Juice looks still puzzled, making a perfect “What the fuck?”-face. ‘I warned you’, you mouth to him and he nods.  
“I’m gonna marry him tomorrow, mom, no need to check on him with Ivan and your other crazy friends. I love him and ...”  
“Does he love you?”  
“Yes, mom, of course.”  
“Does he love you right?”  
“What?” You ask, rolling your eyes.  
No idea, where this will lead, but ... your mom’s always good for some spiritual shit.  
“Does he love you in the right way? Does he balance the energy in your Svadhisthana chakra?”  
“Uh, what?” Juice whispers and you translate for him: “My mother wants to know if you fuck me good.”  
“Oh,” he answers and blushes a bit, “I guess so.”  
“Yeah, mom, he does.”  
“Is he hare, bull or stallion?” Your mother inquires and Juice whispers: “Pisces, ascendant Sagittarius.”  
You chuckle, wiping the tears of silent laughter out of your eyes.  
“No, honey, she asks how big your cock is,” you explain. “That’s a kama sutra thing, you know?”  
“Ah ...,” Juice mumbles, looking terribly helpless and lost.  
“He’s a stallion, mom.”  
“Does that mean that I’ve got a big dick?” Juice wants to know and you nod, enjoying the smile that lights up his face.  
Men! Sweet-talk over their dick and you have them eating out of your hand.  
“Good. Did you read his palm? What about his lifeline? Did you check he won’t die in a few years, leaving you alone with a bunch of children? Like your dad did? I missed checking his lifeline and now see where I am. Do you want this?”  
“No. So, I’ll send you a few photos tomorrow.”  
“From the wedding?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Where are you marrying? And why didn’t you invite me?” Your mom asks and you answer: “It’s a very, very private ceremony. Just Juan, me and the guy who reads the text.”  
“So, when it’s very private, you could marry naked. That’s very spiritual and pure. Symbolizing the clarity of love and the innocence of the bond a man and a woman build.”  
“Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll marry him naked. But he’s a bit shy, so you won’t get any photos and ...”  
“Okay, okay. I want photos. So, I’ll send you some positive vibes, yeah? I’ll hang up now, I need to set the Ouija and tell your father that his little girl marries the wrong guy. Love you!”  
The call ends and Juice stares at you with an expression between horror and amusement.  
“I get why you wouldn’t invite her. Or tell her about me.”  
“Thanks. Now, your mother, Juice.”  
“It will be my pleasure, baby. I don’t think my mother’s going to ask me how big or deep your pussy is.”  
“Yoni. The right word, in this case, is yoni.”  
“Oh, my fucking god ...” Juice sighs and grabs the phone.  
“Hey, mom,” he says after a few seconds, “It’s me. Juan.”  
“Who?”  
“Juan Carlos.”  
“Who’s that?”  
“Your son. Pisces, ascendant Sagittarius.”  
You take his hand, petting the back gently, giving him an encouraging smile.


	30. The beautiful secret (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'm tired of being your secret" (Juice x Reader)

Two years ago you moved into a new neighborhood, meeting Juan Carlos Ortiz, your new neighbor. The mutual attraction was undeniable, and four months later you started a friends-with-benefits-thing, more or less accidentally, due to a bottle of Tequila and the sudden death of one of your favorite co-workers. You needed comfort, more than a bottle of Tequila can give, so you ended up in Juan’s arms, his lips on your skin, whispering the sweetest nothings. Very soon you got exclusive – not that you’d talked about, but it felt totally exclusive. In your apartment. Or in his apartment. The world outside didn’t matter, not until three months ago, as one of his friends died and you offered to come along with him to the funeral.   
He acted ... yielding. Elusive.   
You felt deeply hurt. And tried, from this day on, to get to know his friends. He’s got no family, you did know that. But he spoke a few times about his family at the club, about his friends there. Every time you’ve asked about meeting his friends he refused, bringing up cheap excuses.   
That’s what is in your mind right now, staring at the ceiling in your bedroom, listening to his even, deep breathing. He’s asleep, sleeping like a log after loving you gently and slow.   
You don’t wanna lose him. But you also don’t want to go on like this. You are absolutely no human to be ashamed of, you’re a modest citizen of Charming, paying your taxes, living by the law, not breaking any rules. You know that Juan isn’t perfectly modest. He drives way too fast on his bike and the main part of the letters in his mailbox is speeding tickets. Plus: Sometimes he gets into fights, having bruises or a cut. You’re not able to understand why this man, who is so sweet, so caring and so exceptionally gentle, finds pleasure in having fights with random guys.   
Your friend Ruth is occasionally joking about Juan being a kind of superhero, Batman on a bike, a fighter for justice on his batbike. That would explain all the speeding tickets and the beaten up state he’s in from time to time.   
So, long story short: He is part of your life, you are part of his bedroom.   
And now it’s time to change that. 

The door to the clubhouse is closed but you can hear the murmur of many voices and music. Taking a deep breath you check your clothes. Nothing to pretty, you chose jeans and a tight, turquoise shirt. Sneakers on your feet and your hair pinned up in a loose bun. The perfect girl next door look. The door opens and a woman in her fifties steps out, so you use the opportunity to go in, after giving her a smile and a friendly “hello”. Finding Juan is no problem, his very unique hairstyle (you really love, by the way) makes it easy to spot him. He sits with his back to the door, so he doesn’t notice you yet. Nobody has noticed you until now. He’s sitting on a table with some other men, besieged by a few women in very short and sexy outfits. You grab a chair from the next table, placing it at Juan’s side and take a seat, without saying a word. The conversation stops and a lot of men watching you with interest.   
“Hi, gorgeous,” one of them says, “What can we do for you?”  
You feel Juan’s gaze on you, puzzled, maybe a bit angry. But you don’t care. You know it’s the right thing to do. Taking his hand in yours you look him in the eyes, stating loud and with a firm voice: “I’m tired of being your secret, Juan.”   
“Uh, Juicy!” One man laughs, “That’s a beautiful secret, tell us about it!”  
“No. She’s my secret and she stays my secret,” he answers, the anger in his voice clearly audible.   
He gets up, grabbing your arm, pulling you up.   
“Come on. Let’s go.”  
“But ...” You protest and he hisses: “Stop talking. Haul your ass.” 

He accompanies you to your car and states: “What the hell was that?”  
“I’m tired of being your secret, Juan!”  
“You are no secret. You are a treasure I try to protect, dammit! This isn’t your world. You don’t want to be part of it. Got it?”   
“What’s wrong with your world, Juan?” You ask and he shakes his head, looking tired and desperate: “Everything. It’s dangerous and no place for someone so precious like you.”   
“But ...”  
He lifts his hand, signalizing you to stop.   
“Do you love me, Y/N?”  
“Do you?” You ask, not wanting to say it first.  
“I do. I love you. And that’s the reason I hold you off this club. So, do you love me?”   
“Yeah, I ... I love you, Juan.”   
He smiles, leaning in for a kiss: “Good,” he whispers on your lips. “Drive home and never come back to the clubhouse. I love visiting your world, baby. Don’t take this from me by stepping into my world. Okay?”  
“Okay. Are we good?” You ask lowly.  
“Yeah, we are.” He smiles and places on more kiss on your cheek. “See you later. Will you cook something for dinner?”  
You nod and he opens the door of your car for you.   
“I’m coming home by 7 sharp. I love you, baby.”   
“Love you,” you answer and sit down on the driving seat.   
After taking a look on the clock you drive on the street, giving a fuck for the speed limit. If you want to have dinner ready by 7 sharp you have to hurry up a bit.


	31. Mamita vs. Juanito (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I miss her so damn much, and it's killing me that she's gone." (Juice x Reader)

You open the door to your mother’s apartment carefully. It’s 2 pm, most likely she’s taking her daily siesta. In the past things like earthquakes happened, tornados, car accidents around noon, doctor appointments and the very mistimed passing of Uncle Herb at 1:15 pm on a Thursday: Mom doesn’t care. She’s taking siesta from 1:30 to 2:30 pm, every day the sun rises. And if the sun won’t rise in a day in the future, you’re sure she’ll have siesta anyway, telling the world to fuck off and leave her alone. If the world can’t manage ending without her helping hands, the apocalypse has to fucking wait until 2:45 pm. That’s it.  
So, you are very quiet, stopping short as you hear quiet voices talking. Is she watching TV? You tiptoe to the living room, sneaking a peak.  
You hold your breath as you’re getting aware of the painfully familiar mohawk sitting on the armchair. Juice. What the fuck is he doing here? You didn’t see him after your break-up two months ago. You saw him kissing a blonde bimbo working at CaraCara – a damn porn star! –, packed your stuff and left him. With a broken heart, as you consider this crazy guy as the fucking love of your life.  
He’s been close with your mother from the first day on. But that she skips her holy siesta for him – that’s a new level of respect and love. Maybe she should marry him, you think bitterly.  
“Oh, Juanito ...,” your mother sighs, mumbling something in Spanish, which poor Juanito doesn’t understand, as you know for sure.  
“I miss her so damn much, and it’s killing me that she’s gone!” He states and your mother smiles gently, patting his hand.  
“She misses you too. She’s crying her eyes out, every night.”  
Yeah, sure, mamita, you think. I don’t even live here, don’t have slept in this apartment for more than seven years.  
“She does?” Juice asks and your mom nods: “She loves you with all her heart.”  
“Oh, good,” he sighs and she asks: “Why did she leave you? She never told me. Did you do something stupid, Juanito?”  
“I ... I kissed another woman and she ... she saw it. But it was ...”  
“Madre Mia! Vaca ignorante! Idiota!” Your mother grumbles, giving him a slap on the back of his head.  
“I’m sorry, suegra!” He answers, rubbing the back of his head.  
“Next time you’ll cheat on her your balls end up on the tapas plate for her next birthday, chico. Oyes?”  
“Yeah, sure.” He nods and your mother says: “Now, apologize. She’s standing behind you.”  
You see him startle and he gets up slowly, turning around.  
“You must be a very special guy if my mom skips her siesta for you,” you say, suppressing a smile.  
“Yeah.”  
“So, you want to come back to me? Eating humble pie, Juan?”  
“I want to come back, yeah.” He comes closer, stepping in your personal space, his head cocked, ready for a kiss. “I’m sorry, so sorry. Please, take me back.”  
“There’s something ... I have to tell you,” you whisper and he nods, placing his hand on your still flat belly.  
“I know. I love you. You both.”


	32. Reflecting triangles (Opie x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “It’s a hobby of mine to prove you wrong.” (Opie x Reader)

You look with pure horror at the coordinate systems your daughter drew.  
“Draw the triangles and reflect them in a line.”  
Fuck. You look through the open patio door in the garden, where Harry has fun with Ellie and Kenny in a paddling pool.  
“Mom? Stop dreaming, I really need some help,” Megan says, “I don’t know why, but it looks so wrong.”  
“Uhm ...,” you answer, making a face, “yeah, somehow it does.”  
“But why?”  
“Mhm.”  
You start with A, checking if she drew the triangle correctly. Biting on the nail of your pointer finger you cock your head from one side to the other, trying to find a mistake – and yeah, you do.  
“Hah!” You smile, “I’ve found the mistake, Bean.”  
“Stop calling me Bean, mom, I hate it.”  
“You’ll always be my little bean, birdie.” You say, reaching for the eraser.  
“And stop calling me birdie. I’m 12 years old, mom.”  
“Tss ... want me to improve your reflecting-triangle-skills or not?”  
“I want.”  
15 minutes later you’ve got them all corrected. A piece of cake if you know how to do it.  
“Hey,” Opie says, entering the living room, water drops all over his naked chest. “What takes you so long?”  
“Math homework. Meg reflected some triangles and I corrected her mistakes.” You say, smiling, proud of yourself.  
“Show me,” he demands and you roll your eyes: “I’ve got this, Ope. It’s fine. We can cancel the learning and have some fun in the paddling pool. Besides your beard drips. You’re gonna ruin our work with your beard.”  
Opie shakes his head like a wet dog would do and Meg and you both scream because of the flying water drops hitting you.  
“Better? Show me your homework, Meg. I love your mom, although she has absolutely no idea of mathematics.”  
“It’s fine,” you say miffed, crossing your arms in front of your chest.  
“Remember the last time she explained this physics stuff to you?” Opie grins, coming closer and starts rubbing your back, placing a kiss on your head.  
“Yeah ...,” Megan says slowly, squinting. “It was bullshit from the start to the end.”  
“Hey!” You say, “Watch your language, Bean! I’m still your mother!”  
“You stop calling me Bean or Birdie, I pass bullshit.” Megan says, handing her book to Opie.  
He takes a seat at the dining table, reading the task and makes a face.  
“Eraser,” he demands and within a minute your work is gone and Opie starts to explain what you did wrong.  
“You occur my responsibility for education,” you pout and Opie chuckles, shaking his head.  
“Now it looks right,” Megan says, smiling, about ten minutes later. “Thanks a lot, Opie.”  
“You’re welcome, Meg. Meet you in the paddling pool in ten.”  
“Aye, sir!” She laughs, sprinting upstairs to change in her bikini.  
Opie takes your hand in his, a big smile on his face.  
“Thanks, Ope. Really. You needn’t do it, you know?”  
“Yeah, I know. But I can’t risk poor Birdie getting an E in math because her mother passed her lack of understanding of natural science on her. Plus: It’s a hobby of mine to prove you wrong. So, any time again, baby.”  
“I’m glad you love me although I suck at math.”  
“Oh, you suck at physics and chemistry too, but I don’t care at all, baby.”  
You laugh, leaning in for a long, gentle kiss.  
“I love you, Harry,” you whisper on his lips, while his hands sliding under your shirt.  
Before he’s able to answer Megans voice calls: “Uh, get a room. That’s disgusting!”  
“Meg?” Opie asks and she stops on her way to the patio door.  
“Yeah?”  
“Have an eye on Kenny and Ellie, okay? I need to talk to your mother.”  
“Yeah, sure,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes.  
She steps in the garden and you hear Kenny and Ella cheering about the new company.  
“Meet you in the bedroom in three,” Opie whispers, brushing with his thumb over your nipple.  
“For reflecting some triangles?” You ask, getting up, pulling him with you.  
“No. Cylindrical objects and their fitting in hollow bodies.”  
You laugh so hard you have to search some hold on the walls of the hallway.  
“If we talk about the same cylindrical object I must admit that I think it won’t fit. It’s too big, Harry. So fucking big.”  
“It’s a hobby of mine to prove you wrong.” He says, slapping your ass and opening the bedroom door.


	33. Fuck² (Juice x Reader x Happy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Threesome with Juice x Reader x Happy (pure smut, anal and a bit of Dom!Happy. Be warned)

First, Juice wanted to watch. That was how it started. So he watched Happy fucking you several times, against the wall, from behind, missionary, with you on top. You liked it. One night Happy said, he wanted to watch and swapped places with Juice. And that's what he did a few times over the next weeks. It was incredible, so erotic, having your old man sit on an armchair near the bed, holding your gaze while Juice eats you out or fucks you. It was even better than having Juice watch. After a few times Happy started to call the shots, telling Juice what he’s supposed to do.  
_Suck her nipples._  
_Lick her pussy._  
_Go slower, Juice. Don’t make her cum right now. Let her wait._  
_Fuck her harder, she needs it. Right, baby? You need it hard, don’t you?_  
_Make her blow you._  
_I want you to fuck her ass._  
_Make her scream your name._  
_I want you to pull out in time. Shoot your load on her tits._  
After Juice ejaculated he watched Happy fucking you, he watched in silence, lying at your side, smiling, satisfied, his gaze wandering over your trembling body, and, depending on the position, to Happy’s cock pounding into you.

You can’t get enough of these two men, who both fuck you thoroughly. You want them at the same time – and so now it’s your time to call the shots. At least a bit.  
Happy likes watching Juice preparing your body, so he made him dilate your asshole with his fingers, widening you to take his cock without any pain or discomfort. You’re lubed up and ready, your pussy dripping, needy, greedy, eager.  
You push Juice on his back, straddling him, giving Happy a look over your shoulder: “Come here, Happy, please. Strip. Fuck me.”  
You sink on Juice’s cock, eliciting a moan of you both, rocking your hips softly back and forth, just a little bit. It’s not what Happy had planned – he obviously wanted to watch Juice fucking your ass – but you want to give it a try.  
“Jesus Christ!” Juice hisses, grabbing your thighs.  
You fall forward, placing your hands on the mattress beside Juice’s head, wiggling with your butt. You feel Juice’s hands on your ass, spreading your cheeks. Happy licks over his lips, hesitating just a second before opening his belt and getting rid of his shirt. Your head drops as the mattress sinks in, as Happy climbs on the bed behind you. Juice’s spreading his legs a bit more to make room for Happy and you lock your gaze with his.  
“Stay like this. It’s perfect. I want to see your face when he enters you,” Juice whispers and you nod.  
Happy grabs a condom and the bottle with lube, lubing his wrapped cock, a low moan on his lips.  
“Relax, baby,” he mumbles and you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance. “You’ll feel damn full. Say when it’s too much.”  
Your eyes open wide as the pressure increases, your pussy clenches and you breathe deep in your belly.  
“Juice ...,” you whisper and he smiles, spreading your ass cheeks a bit more.  
“Yeah,” he answers. “Feel it too. That’s good, right?”  
“Fuck, yes! Oh, my fucking god!” You hiss, thrusting a bit backwards to get Happy’s cock faster into you.  
Both men moan in unison and Happy stops your movement with his hands gripped in your hips. He’s the one in charge.  
“Stop, please!” You whisper two seconds later and Happy pulls out an inch or so.  
Juice’s right hand immediately searches for your clit, drawing circles around the nub, using the perfect pressure to make moan again, to relax you.  
“That’s good, baby, you’re doing perfect,” Happy whispers, petting your back a few seconds, before slowly sliding into you again.  
“Happy!” You scream, panting heavy, not knowing how to process this incredible fullness you feel.  
It’s nearly too much. Nearly. Juice smiles, losing eye contact with you as he searches Happy’s gaze.  
“Okay?” Happy asks in your back and you whimper a “yes”.  
You like anal sex and you’ve always enjoyed it. But this ... is a whole other league.  
“Juice,” you whisper, needy of his support, as Happy pulls out slowly.  
“’m here, darling,” he answers, lifting your hips, helping you to move just a little bit. “I’m here, deep in your pussy. Feel me?”  
“Yes, yes, I ... oh, my god! I do.”  
The men pick up a rhythm, flesh smacks on flesh and you feel your orgasm building fast, unstoppable. The feeling of being filled up like this, of being fucked by two men at once is like a drug, making you high and flying. You notice the little beads of perspiration on Juice’s forehead, feeling his cock fucking you with short, hard thrusts, matching Happy’s movements.  
“You close, aren’t you?” Juice whispers, “Your pussy starts clenching like crazy.”  
“So does her ass. She’s gonna milk us, right, baby?”  
“Yes, oh god, Happy!”  
He fucks you hard now, and you scream, scream even louder as Juice’s thumb presses on your clit. You cum, cum, and cum, your body trembling, shuddering, your eyes closed, your hands fisting the sheets. You barely notice the deep groan Happy makes, pressing himself balls deep in you, shooting his load into the condom. Juice gives you three hard thrusts more before you feel his semen covering your inner walls. You crash on his chest, making him hiss, but you don’t care. He’s a big strong man, he can handle you. While you catch your breath you feel Happy caressing your spine, waiting for his cock to shrink. He pulls out slowly, making you moan. You feel him leaving the bed and Juice lifts you up, placing you at his side, bedding your head on his chest.  
“Be gentle with her.” Happy commands and you feel Juice nodding.  
He doesn’t need an extra order to be gentle with you. He’s always gentle, caring and sweet. You watch Happy closing his pants and his belt, taking a seat on the armchair and getting up again to smoke a cigarette on the balcony. The door closes behind him – you hate smoke in the bedroom – and Juice pulls you even closer, petting every inch of your body he’s able to reach. He uses the time of Happy’s absence to kiss you thoroughly. Happy doesn’t really like Juice kissing you like this. Kissing is for mostly him, for your old man. But as you’re totally into kissing Juice, you oblige willingly.  
You’re rolled on your back, Juice covering your body, not breaking the kiss.  
“Y/N?” He then asks at your ear and you answer with a sleepy “Hm?”  
“You were perfect. Thank you. Sleep a bit. Happy wants a round 2 for sure.”  
“Hm. And you?”  
“More than everything else.”


	34. A new job (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: If he's going to treat you like shit I'm going to kick his ass. (Juice x Reader)

“Fuck, I’m so nervous,” you whisper, biting on the nail of your pointer finger, watching Juice stripping slowly, throwing his kutte and his shirt on a chair in the corner of the bedroom.  
“But you’ve done this before, haven’t you?” He asks, opening his belt.  
Juice rubs over his abs, scratching a spot right of his belly button and you swallow hard.  
“Yeah, of course. But I’ve never been paid before. And being paid means ... you have to be good. What if I’m horrible?”  
“You aren’t. Come here,” he smiles, opening his arms for you to step into his embrace.  
He’s naked and ... fuck, he’s so perfect. But not even his glorious body can comfort you right now.  
“I ... I even forgot how to start ...,” you whisper and he closes the distance with two steps, pulling you in his arms.  
“How about this?” He asks on your lips, smiling.  
His kiss is gentle and you’d love to go on like this, but ...  
“I don’t think kissing is appropriate, Juice. Please, stay serious. I’m really nervous and ...”  
“I don’t care what others find appropriate or not.” Juice smiles, kissing you once more, before withdrawing. “I’ll take a shower.”  
“Okay,” you nod, going on with nervously biting on your nail. “Shit, I ... I just want it to be over!”  
“Relax, honey. Everything will be fine. If he’s going to treat you like shit I’m going to kick his ass.”  
“Juice! He’s five years old and he comes for piano lessons. If you kick his ass, his father will kick mine.”  
“I kick their asses, if they’re going to treat you like shit, okay? You’re great, you’ll rock this. I’m taking a shower and prepare dinner while you give this kid a piano lesson. And if you’re a good teacher, you’ll get a reward tonight.” He winks, heading to the bathroom.  
“What reward?” You ask but you don’t get an answer and before you can ask a little bit louder, the door bell rings.  
Your first piano student ever has arrived. You close the bedroom door behind you to prevent the upper class super mom from running into a naked biker and take a deep breath. Let’s go, Y/N. Think of your reward. And imagine how Juice kicks the ass of a five year old being bratty.


	35. Risk analysis (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly it seems quite dangerous.” (Juice x Reader)

“They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly it seems quite dangerous”, Juice whispers, pulling a big tool out of his backpack. “So, this is better.”  
“What the hell is that?” You ask lowly, pointing on the thing in Juice’s hand.  
“Bolt cutter. We can’t climb – you can’t climb, I can – over the fence. Barbwire, see?” He points in the darkness and you see: nothing. Because it’s pretty dark.  
“You said we would have sex in a whirlpool. Because shower sex seems to be pretty dangerous,” you hiss, grabbing his arm. “What the fuck are we doing with a bolt cutter when we want to have sex in a whirlpool?”  
“We cut the chain of this garden gate, break into the pool house and have sex in the whirlpool. Where’s the problem?” Juice asks, shrugging.  
“Break into the pool house?”  
“Yeah, but that’s not the point, baby. The point is having sex in the whirlpool,” Juice answers, smiling like the dork he is, wiggling suggestively with his eyebrows.  
“Wait. Let me get this clear. You refused having sex in the shower because it’s too dangerous. And instead of having sex in our bathroom we commit a crime by breaking into a pool house to have sex in a whirlpool? And that is, according to your logic, less dangerous than having sex in a damn shower?”  
“Yes.” He says, pretty positive.  
“You’re crazy.”  
“I’m crazy and I have a quite impressive boner already. So, can we go on or are there more items on your agenda we have to discuss before having some fun?”  
“Go on,” you say, waving aside and with a loud crack the chain’s open.  
“Cameras? Rottweilers?” You ask as he opens the gate carefully.  
“No. Checked it in the afternoon. No dogs, no cats. No crocodiles in the whirlpool, no cameras. No one at home.”  
“Good,” you whisper, following him to the pool house.  
You’re pretty nervous, barely able to honor Juice’s pretty impressive burglar qualities.  
“And here we go,” he says under his breath, opening the door to the pool house.  
In less than five minutes he started the – really big – whirlpool and jumped into the water, sighing joyfully. He’s naked and has obviously lots of fun. He enjoys this way too much and his joy is somehow catching.  
“Come here, baby,” he says. “Water is perfect. It’s pretty safe, darling, as long as you’re piled on my cock.”  
“Ha-ha,” you mumble, stripping slowly and climbing into the water. “Oh ...,” you sigh, leaning back, enjoying the bubbling water massaging your skin.  
“What are you doing?” Juice asks, making a summoning gesture. “My cock’s over here. Come on, hurry up.”  
“Why are you in such a hurry, baby?” You ask, swimming over to him, placing your arms around his neck.  
“Why I am in such a hurry? Are you kidding? We broke into a pool house. That’s pretty dangerous, baby.” He grins, grabbing your neck and pulling you nearer for a kiss.


	36. Van Halen (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You can't break my heart like this (Juice x Reader)

The sidewalk is too small for the two of you. You try very hard to keep Juice in walking in a straight line, but he’s too strong and too drunk.  
“Juice! No!” You hiss as he stops in front of the “Pussy In Boots” sex shop at Dartmond Alley.  
He stares at the shop-window, which is decorated with lingerie and lube bottles and Ben Wa balls.  
“You’d look sooooo hot in thi... this one,” he states, pointing shakily on a yellow-white lace nothing.  
“That’s a thong. I hate thongs.”  
“Okay, but you’d look hot in it.” He says slowly and accentuated, knowing he’s slowly losing his mother language.  
“Come on, let’s go. We’ve got two more blocks to go.”  
“What’s that for?” He asks, pointing on the Ben Wa balls.  
“Training the PC muscle. Come on, Juice. I’m tired.”  
You pull him with you and with a sigh he gives in, walking zigzag over the sidewalk.  
“Wait!” He says, stopping and lifting his pointer finger.  
“What?”  
“Sleep with me.”  
“No.”  
“Oh, come on! You ... you can’t break my heart like this! Little poor Juicy heart, shattered into ... hey! Hear that?”  
You smile and point to a bar where the music comes from: “Van Halen.”  
“Love this song.” He states, and – oh, thanks god – starts walking again.  
The rest of your journey is uneventful, and you reach Juice’s house after a nearly romantic moonshine walk, accompanied by nearly romantic music – Juice humming Van Halen.  
“Good night, Juice,” you say at his door, waving him good bye.  
You stop as he grabs your arm, looking down on you, a dumb smile on his face.  
“Wait,” he whispers, “thanks for walking me home.”  
You shrug, waiting for him to let you go.  
“You can't break my heart like this,” he sings lowly and you chuckle: “That’s terrible. That’s Van Halen. And that are not the correct lyrics.”  
He comes closer, so close you can feel his breath on your face.  
“What are the lyrics?”  
“Why can’t this be love,” you whisper, swallowing hard.  
“Yeah,” he answers. “Tell me. Why can’t this be love?”  
“From my side, Juice ...”  
“Yeah?”  
“It is love. Call me when you’re sober. Sleep well, baby.”  
“Come in, please.” He whispers and for a second there’s nothing more in this world you would wish for.  
But he’s drunk. He won’t remember in the morning. You love him so much and you want to be more than a quickie in a drunken night. You want something special. It’s your little, secret dream, every night, every morning. Sharing a bed with him. Sharing a life with him.  
And maybe, just maybe, he remembers in the morning and calls you. You turn around and walk away, knowing that he’ll never call. He didn’t call the last time, he won’t call this time. So, it remains a dream. Until the night you will be so desperate that you’re gonna stay the night in his apartment. But not tonight. It’s still a little bit of dignity left.


	37. Almost told (Happy x Reader x Juice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Threesome fic based on "I almost told you that I loved you" by Papa Roach.

Flap. Flap. Flap. The fan on the ceiling is barely audible over the noises from the street. Just a window and a jalousie separating you from the masses on the high street on this warm, sunny spring day. Happy’s leaning on the wall, his hands fisted in your hair, guiding your head. His eyes are closed and his hips are bucking involuntarily. Juice kneels at your side, his nose just a few inches away from Happy’s cock, watching you close-up blowing Happy’s dick. Juice has his hand buried between your legs, playing with your clit, fucking you with his fingers, alternating between soft and hard.  
“Swallow me down, slut,” Happy groans, pressing your nose against his pubic bone.  
“You like that, don’t you?” Juice asks at your ear, “Your pussy clenches every time he calls you a slut. Slut.”  
You can’t answer, not even breathing or nodding, so you give Juice just a look from the corner of your eye. He chuckles and pinches your clit, making you moan.  
“Oh, fuck!” Happy pants, feeling the vibrations of your moan on his cock. “Do it again!”  
And Juice pinches once more, pulling you back after you’ve moaned, to let you breathe: “Don’t make her pass out, Hap.”  
Juice has always been the gentler one, though he can be very rough too. Happy’s always rough and hard, gentle moments are ... rare. But you love him as he is. You enjoy sex with Juice alone – you never had sex alone with Happy, because you’re Juice’s wife – and your already pretty busy sex life got a massive boost as Happy joined you in the bedroom. 

“I’d really like to fuck your woman senseless, Juicy,” he’d said one night in the clubhouse and after a long talk Juice had known that this wasn’t some meaningless babbling or showing-off (anyway, both unthinkable when it comes to Happy, so yeah, he was serious and maybe the talk wasn’t as long as Juice told you, maybe it was more a “Wow, I’m totally in. I’ll ask her” and a short nod of Happy).  
Juice talked to you about Happy’s idea and you gave it a try. It was totally worth it. With Happy came new input, a few things you’ve never tried before but happen to love since then.

Happy grabs your arm, pulling you on your feet, kissing you hungry, while leading you to the bed.  
“Ride me,” he demands hoarsely, “ride me good.”  
He turns you around, making himself comfortable on the bed (your side, Happy never ever touches Juice’s side of the bed, which amuses you every time), placing you on his lap and thrusts in you, meeting you halfway on your way down. Happy is an addict. He’s a sex addict, he never can get enough of you. Or of any other woman.  
While you ride his cock you give Juice rotatory hand and blow jobs.  
“Fuck, slut, move your lazy ass a bit faster,” Happy growls and you give him a sweet little smile, slowing down your movements.  
Happy answers your smile with a sharp slap on your ass, a slap that makes you nearly come in an instant. You like the roughness. And you’re totally into a little bit of pain. You love Happy’s intransigence when it comes to sex. He wants it the way he wants it. And that’s exactly what he gets.  
“Move, bitch,” he growls, circling around your clit to make you go faster. “Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.”  
And you do, you fuck him hard, so hard you aren’t able to take care of Juice anymore. Juice climbs on his bedside, lazily caressing his cock with two fingers, smearing pre-cum on his fingers and slipping them in your open mouth. You suck them eagerly, your gaze locked with Happy’s.  
“Such a slut,” Happy mumbles, “cum-gorging bitch.”  
“Yes,” you answer around Juice fingers, “I ... oh, god ... Juice!”  
It’s always Juice’s name. Always. You see his smile before your eyes close, smiling back, riding, so close, close, closer, fuck, oh fuck! You come with a scream, with Juice’s name on your lips, your pussy clenching hard around Happy’s cock and he doesn’t wait for you to ride your orgasm out, he sits up, tossing your around, thrusting like a maniac into your pussy. His heavy breathing hot on your ear, skin on skin, and you close your eyes, submitting to his attack. Your hand searches for Juice and he takes your hand in his, squeezing it, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb while Happy fucks you ruthless and so hard that you scream with every thrust. Happy’s movements start to stutter as he’s ready to shoot his load into you and he pants lowly at your ear: “I ... I ... Y/N, baby, I ... love ... oh, fuck!”  
He stiffens, holding still, pumping his load in you, before turning you around again, lying on his back, making you suck Juice off, his own cock still buried in your pussy. 

Eight hours later you still think on today’s first fuck with Happy and what he almost said before shooting his load. The street outside is empty now, the ceiling fan the only sound to hear. Juice’s in the bathroom, taking a shower, while Happy stands in front of the bed, closing his belt. He’s about to head home, he never stays and sleeps in your marital bed.  
“Happy?” You ask, turning on the side, watching him grabbing for his kutte.  
You’re sore, so freaking sore, they fucked you good, for hours. You’re looking forward to some cuddling with your husband, having a very, very late midnight dinner and a good night’s rest.  
“Hm?”  
“Are you in love with me?”  
“If you need aftercare, ask your husband.” He rasps, shaking his head.  
“Do you love me, Happy?” You ask once more, smiling.  
“No. Love’s a disease, I’m immune against it. And you could never please me.” Happy gives you a cold look, but you know better. “Bye, Y/N.”  
“Bye, Happy. Thank you. For saying it.”  
“Yeah, whatever,” he scoffs, shaking his head.  
He opens the door and exits the room, leaving you staring at the ceiling.  
“Where’s Hap? Already gone, this cuddle-allergic motherfucker?” Juice asks a minute later, grinning, dropping on the bed at your side, pulling you in his arms.  
“Yeah. Already gone. Juice?”  
“Baby?”  
“Happy’s in love with me.”  
“I know.” Juice answers, kissing you gently on your forehead. “I know.”  
“And?”  
“Your heart is already taken. By me. So: He can love you as desperate as he wants. He can fuck you senseless, that won’t chance a thing. It’ll always be my name on your lips when you come, right? And I’m the only one who hears ‘I love you’.”  
“Mhm,” you whisper, kissing his neck, “I love you, Juice.”


	38. Being a pussy (Chibs x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I've never felt this way - and it scares the shit out of me (Chibs x Reader)

“Oh, come on, Juicy! Don’t be such a pussy!” Chibs says and you roll your eyes.  
“Pussy,” Happy scoffs and the others laugh.  
Juice sighs and opens his mouth to say something, but you’re faster. You stand up, giving everyone a disapproving glance.  
“I’m fed up, guys. Stop calling him a pussy. I don’t wanna hear the word ‘pussy’ once again in a disrespectful context.”  
“But he is our little pussy, right, Juice?” Tig laughs and you slap the back of his head.  
“Shut up, Trager. So, you guys got a little bit of time left right now?”  
“Yeah,” Jax says, “What’s up?”  
“I’ve got something for you. Something good,” you smile, “I’ll be right back.”  
You see the questioning look Chibs gives you, but you turn around, leaving the clubhouse without further explanation. 

“Which dorm can we use?” You ask two minutes later, carrying a suitcase in the clubhouse.  
“Why do we need a dorm?” Juice asks and you answer: “Because you’ll feel the need to lie down, honey.”  
The men look confused and you scoff: “What? Angst, you pussies?”  
“We can use mine. It’s the biggest,” Jax says and you nod: “Good. Let’s go. All of you.”  
“What’s in your mind, love?” Chibs asks and you say sweetly: “You’ll see in a minute, because you’re the first test person. Pussy.”  
“That can be nothing good, right?” Half-Sack whispers and you chuckle.  
“Happy, Chibs, shirts off, lie down on the bed,” you command, opening the suitcase, preparing your things.  
“What the hell?” Happy says, squinting.  
“We’ll do this little exercise because you all have obviously no idea of what being a pussy means. This,” you explain, “is a labor pain simulator. We’ll see how much pain you pussies can stand. You won’t dare to call someone a pussy again when we’re ready. Ever.”  
“Easy,” Happy growls, taking his shirt and boots off, laying down on Jax’ bed.  
Chibs hesitates a moment, but your lifted eyebrow says enough to make him follow your orders. Jax, Tig, Half-Sack, Juice and Opie standing around the bed, watching you stick electrodes on Happy’s and Chibs’ belly.  
“Ten stages. We’ll do it a little faster than usual, everyone should have the chance to have some real pussy fun. By the time I first gave birth I went through this for 23 hours. Non-stop. The second one was a bit faster, only 9 hours. Non-stop. Think of it. Let’s see how you manage this. We’ll start at stage 3.”  
You press a few buttons at the simulator and see Happy’s abs quivering. Both men are quiet – yet. You see the others grinning. Yet.  
“Stage 5,” you say and Chibs takes a deep breath.  
Happy clenches his jaw. No sound comes over his lips, while Chibs moans, pressing his hands on his belly as they go for the second time through a stage 5 labor pain.  
“Enough warm-up. Now we don’t stop the pain after 15 seconds, guys. Now we go full distance. One contraction lasts one minute. Every fucking time. Sometimes for 23 hours. Keep that in mind.”  
After 30 seconds Happy closes his eyes, his fists clenched. Chibs murmurs some Gaelic curses, doubling over to process the pain. After 60 seconds the pain stops and both men breathe heavily.  
“Stage 6,” you announce and Chibs once again doubles over, hissing, cursing.  
Happy makes a face, and he can’t suppress a low moan. The other men don’t grin anymore. You give your test person three contractions on stage 6 – and you see that Chibs is really, really fighting.  
“Stage 7,” you say – and after 30 seconds both men jump out of Jax’ bed.  
Happy’s leaning on the wall, a long drawn “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck” on his lips, his arms crossed in front of his belly.  
“Jesus Christ, stop! Make it stop! Fuck, that hurts like hell!” Chibs pants, barely understandable.  
“A pussy can’t stop until the baby is born, love,” you say merciless and give him a smile.  
“I hate you,” Chibs says, “I hate you so much.”  
“That’s okay, totally normal to hate me. Every pussy says this to the one who’s responsible for the pain. Right, Jax? Tig? Opie?”  
“Yeah ...,” Opie says, making a face, a bit pale around his nose.  
Before you can announce stage 8, Chibs leaves your little experiment, giving you a “we’ll talk later”-look.  
“Stage 8, Hap?” You ask, ignoring Chibs completely.  
Happy nods and you press the buttons.  
“Whoooooaaaah! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” Happy screams, doubling over, sinking on his knees, right in front of Juice, who gives him a hand to get up again, once the pain is gone.  
“Okay, okay,” Happy pants, “Got this, got this. Fuck!”  
“Twenty. Three. Hours.” You say ruthless. “Imagine that.”  
The next contraction brings Happy on his knees again – and he quits, too.  
“So,” you say sweetly, “there are two free beds in the labor room. Who’s next?”  
“I want,” Juice says, lifting his hand and Half-Sack nods, too.  
Juice fights like a lion – and he makes it to 8, just like Happy. You feel a little bit sorry for Juice, for giving him the feeling he’s challenged to be extra strong. But it’s a shout out to his brothers. Half-Sack quits at 7, just as Opie and Jax. Only Tig makes it to 8, too.  
After you’ve finished the room is pretty silent.  
“I’ve never felt this way before – and it scares the shit out of me,” Chibs says and – joyful day – you see the other men nodding.  
“That’s some creepy shit.” Juice says, shuddering, looking with disgust on the suitcase.  
“Some men want to know how it feels. I don’t use the simulator very often and only one out of 20 makes it to 10 ...”  
“Hey, can I borrow it?” Happy asks, giving you an interested look.  
“No.”  
“Then give me the name of the manufacturer. I want to buy one.”  
“Jesus Christ, Happy!” Jax says, shaking his head. “So, uhm, Y/N, thanks for the lesson.”  
“What have you learned today, Jackson?” You ask and he grins: “Never talk disrespectful in earshot of a midwife.”  
“And?”  
“And Juice is not a pussy.”  
“But I ... I made it to 8. Contrary to you, Jax,” Juice sneers, patting Jax’ shoulder.  
“That’s right. I only want to hear the word ‘pussy’ as a term of endearment. In a gentle tone.”  
“Thanks god you won’t be in earshot then ...,” Half-Sack states and the men chuckle.  
“So. A beer on seven only to 70 to 80 % born babies?” You ask and you hear seven “yeah” as an answer.  
The men leave the room, except for Chibs, who holds you back.  
“That was nasty, lass. Gave us some real shit.”  
“I know. We good?” You ask, smiling, stealing a kiss.  
“You sure you want that a third time?” He asks lowly, nodding to the suitcase.  
“I want. If you’re the father and I’m allowed to tell you how much I hate you between the contractions.”  
“Okay,” he says in a very soft and gentle tone, “pussy.”  
“That’s better.” You grin, stealing another kiss.


	39. Happy Potter (Happy x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Please don’t argue. You have to leave right now, you aren’t safe here (Happy x Reader)

Shrill clamor follows you through the hallway in the living room, and you stop horror-stricken in the movement, your wand raised in the air. Four girls gathering behind you and you gesture for silence.   
“What’s up, Professor?” Kelsy asks and you storm to the couch, where Happy sits, chewing on a toothpick, watching a baseball classic.   
“Please don’t argue. You have to leave right now, you aren’t safe here,” you say very serious, waving a bit hysterically with your wand – a wooden spoon, because improvisation is everything. “You-know-who is on his way!”   
“Huh?” Happy says, eyeing you – wearing a black sheet around your shoulders and your biggest black purse on your head – and four little witches with disbelief.   
“You aren’t safe here, Harry!” You enjoin him, “Leave!”  
“Happy.” He states without batting an eye.   
“What’s that?” You ask, alarmed, taking the toothpick out of his mouth. “Madame Pomfrey!”  
“Yes, Professor McGonagall?” Jolene says, coming closer.   
“What’s that? Please, tell me it’s not the tooth of a ... bowtruckle!” You yell dramatically, gesturing in desperation.   
“Harry, where did you get that?” Jolene asks, holding the toothpick in the air. “Who gave you that, Harry?”  
“Happy,” Happy answers and you kick him on his shin. “Ouch!”  
“Oh, no!” Tammy says, “He’s poisoned! What shall we do now, Madame Pomfrey?”  
“Are you in pain, Harry? Cramps? Do you feel very thirsty?” You ask, and Kelsy climbs on the couch, patting on Happy’s forehead to feel his temperature.   
“He’s hot.”  
“As hell,” you whisper and clear your throat: “How many of these highly poisonous bowtruckle teeth did you eat, Harry?”  
“Happy.” Happy states, still not in the mood to play along.   
Grinch. Dammit.   
“Maybe it’s a spell. Maybe he can say nothing else anymore?” You suggest and the girls nod thoughtfully.   
“Yeah. A spell and the bowtruckle teeth someone gave him.” Jolene says. “We need ... a cup of golden glitter, a bowl of rice crispies and 23 feathers of a sparrow.”   
“And a bottle of cold frog blood,” you say, to make it a bit scarier.   
“Yes, of course! Someone has to send an owl to Professor Snape!”  
“I’m right here, Madame!” Tig says, faking an English accent, stepping in the living room. You give him a smile, thankful that at least he’s playing along. Whatever fortunate coincidence brought him here, you welcome it. Tig clears his throat, speaking deeper as usual: “But I have to talk a word with Harry first. In private.”   
You straighten the purse on your head and say: “Everyone in the kitchen, ladies and witches! We need to find Dobby’s secret rice crispies den.”   
“Stay strong, Harry! We’ll find a way to cure you,” Rebecca whispers, petting over the hand of her step dad.   
“Happy.”   
The girls shake their heads and head to the kitchen.   
“Hey!” Happy barks and they turn around. “Can I have my bowtruckle tooth back?”   
You chuckle and all the girls yell a “NO!” in unison.   
“Dork!” You whisper and he shakes his head, mouthing “wait until we’re alone”.   
“Promise or threat?”   
“Both, Professor.”   
“Sounds kinky. Can I join you later?” Tig asks, making you burst in laughter.   
“Tig. This is a pajama party with seven year olds. Please behave.” You say, trying to sound very serious.   
“If I don’t behave you could spank my ass with your wand, Professor,” Tig suggests and Happy gets up, giving him an evil eye.   
“Follow me,” he commands and you hear Tig chuckling: “In the dungeons, Harry?”  
“Happy. Asshole.”


	40. Chibsland (Chibs x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Come over here and make me!" (Chibs x Reader)

You stare, eyeing the body with disbelief. So strange. So ugly. So destroyed. So different from what you remember. Your gaze is wandering over the scars, and you recognize them, one by one. First, the C-Section. It’s an old scar, 21 years, 4 months and ... 10 days old. You’d never understand how one could be ashamed of it. But now ... it sums up. Together with the five year old scars of a cholecystectomy, the scars a car accident left eight years ago, and the new one it sums up to a horrible picture. A picture of ... a half woman, reflected by the merciless full length mirror in the bedroom.  
The new scar isn’t _this_ new. It’s been seven months now. And you still can’t watch yourself in the mirror without fighting with tears. You lift your hand, covering the new scar, forming a dome with your hand. Pretending your right breast is still there. But your hand is hollow. There’s nothing except a four inches long scar. You take a look to the bed, where you left your bra and the inlay you wear to ... fake a breast that’s no longer there.  
You hate it. You fear going out without an inlay, you hate wearing one. Your fingertips tracing the scar and you feel nauseous. It feels horrible, both on your fingertips and on the scar. It’s disgusting. You feel the tears burning in your eyes, calling yourself a stupid bitch, under your breath, so Chibs won’t hear. You’re 43 years old. Mother of two kids. Owner of a little drugstore. Nobody needs tits except for feeding babies. And your babies are 21 and 19, so ... You can live without a breast. Even without both breasts. Be thankful you’re well again, no metastases, no complications. And still ... you just can’t get over with it. 

“Stop it, love,” Chibs says gently, “don’t go on like that ...”  
He leans in the doorframe and you ask yourself how long he’s standing there, watching your pathetic bath in self-hate and insecurity.  
“I can’t ...”  
“Stop it, love,” Chibs repeats, shaking his head.  
“Come over here and make me, Filip,” you scoff, staring at your reflection, perfectly knowing that he can’t make you stop it.  
No one can make you stop it.  
You hear muted steps, seeing in the mirror that he’s wearing socks, no boots. His arms close around your waist, you’re pulled against his chest. He holds you, like he did so often in the last seven months. He gently pulls your hand from the scar, placing your hand on his forearm, in front of your belly.  
“You’re still beautiful.” He says, kissing your shoulder.  
His right pointer finger pets over your right collarbone, over your breastbone, wandering slowly to ... the emptiness where once as been your right breast.  
It had been him who discovered the knot, he palpated it one day during sex, while paying some special attention to your boobs, and he’d sent you to the doctor just the morning after. You wouldn’t have noticed the knot for weeks, you guess, so yeah, Filip had saved your life. Back then your doctor said that you’re blessed with a very sensitive partner, one with a distinct sense of touch.  
You flinch as he touches the skin around the scar – for the first time ever. You didn’t allow him to touch you. You haven’t had sex since you’d been diagnosed with breast cancer. Seven months. And he’s still with you.  
“We all wear the scars of our battles, love,” he whispers, tracing his own scars on his cheeks with his left pointer finger, his gaze in the mirror locked with yours.  
He covers the scar on your chest with his right hand, kissing your neck.  
“It’s ugly,” you whisper, placing your hand on his.  
“It isn’t ugly. It’s a scar. It’s a part of you. Lemme show you how much I love you, lass,” Chibs whispers, “please. We’re gonna make it gentle and slow, we’re taking our time. I still want you, you’re still beautiful. And I miss touching you.”  
You turn around, hiding your face on his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. He pets your back, whispering sweet nothings, holding you. As the sobbing stops he leads you to the bed and helps you being comfortable. He strips to the boxers and lies down at your side, pulling you in his arms.  
“Relax, honey. We’ll make it stop. I’m gonna make you feel better. Trust me, will you?”  
“Yes. But ...”  
“No buts, lass. If you need a break, just tell me. If you truly can’t stand your right breast being touched, tell me and I’ll stop.”  
“There is no right breast anymore. It’s ... kind of no man’s land.”  
“It’s my land, my territory,” Chibs grins. “Chibsland. That’s a great name for it.”  
He makes a rotating gesture over the right half of your chest: “Chibsland.”  
“It’s a desert with a scar.”  
“That’s okay. I would be hella irritated if there were shrubbery, babe.”  
You can’t help, you have to smile.  
“See?” He leans in for a kiss, “That’s better.” 

It’s not that you ... made up with your fate or your look after this night with Chibs. But it’s been a little step back to normal. And once again, you’re more than thankful for the twist of fate that brought Chibs into your life. He’s there to save your life. Again and again.


	41. Emergency (Kozik x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I can't explain right now, but I need you to trust me." (Kozik x Reader)

You’re not in the mood to go out, you’re in a personal lockdown for about eight weeks now, since Gabe broke up with you. Since this asshole got one of your friends knocked up. Fuck. It’s 6:45 p.m. on a Friday evening and you’re already wearing your pajamas. Starting a DVD or reading a book? What is it, Y/N? Some overly sweet romance to watch or some idyllic romance to read? A walk in the clouds vs. Robyn Carr? Or something like this? Ordering pizza or pasta?   
You startle as the door bell rings and head to the front door. Whoever this is – you’ll get rid of her. Or him. God, hopefully it isn’t Gabe. Please, don’t let it be Gabe.   
You take a look through the door viewer and see Juice standing outside. What the hell? Juice?   
Opening the door you say: “Juice, whatever you want, the answer is no.”   
“Hi yourself. You’ve got to come with me.” He says, in a loud whisper, somehow hectically.   
“Why?”  
“I can’t explain right now. But you have to come with me. Now.” He answers, making a prompting gesture.  
“I’m wearing my pajamas, Juice,” you say. “I don’t go anywhere.”  
“These are you pajamas?” He frowns, whistling. “Wow. Looks good.”  
“It’s a shorts and a top. Nothing special.”   
“Mhm. I like it. But if that’s your PJ, you’ll have to change. Fast, please.”   
Juice grabs your arm, pulling you with him to your bedroom, opening the closet.   
“Jeans, shirt, socks, sneakers.” He says, throwing the clothes in your face, pointing on the sneakers on the floor.   
You pick shirt and jeans out of your face: “Are you totally crazy, Juice? What’s going on?”  
“Trust me. Hurry up. It’s very, very important that you trust me.”   
“Okay, okay. So, turn around. No peeping.” You command, sighing, and Juice goes to the window, watching the street outside, wiggling on his toes tips.   
You change in jeans and shirt, and after being fully dressed you grab your purse.   
“I really, really hope it’s an emergency, Juice.”  
“It is,” he says, guiding you outside, where two bikes are parked.   
On one of the bikes Kozik is sitting, a helmet in his hands.   
“Hi,” Kozik says. “You ... look good, Y/N.”   
“Hi, Koz,” you answer, giving Juice a puzzled look.   
“Okay,” Juice states, “listen. You’ll drive with Kozik. Okay?”  
“What. Is. The. Fucking. Matter?” You say accentuated, “I won’t drive with anyone anywhere as long as I don’t know what’s happening.”  
Kozik gets off his bike, standing in front of you, taking your hands in his: “I can’t explain right now, but I need you to trust me. Please, Y/N.”   
He looks serious and in sorrow, somehow nervous.   
“Can you trust me?” He asks lowly and in the corner of your eye you see Juice smiling.   
“Yeah, sure ...,” you answer, taking a deep breath, smelling leather, tobacco and Kozik as he puts the helmet on your head.   
He sits on his bike and you take a seat behind him, closing your arms around his waist. You look around, searching for ... pursuers, but you can’t see someone suspicious. Juice is driving on your right and after about 2 miles he leaves you, turning right, while Kozik drives straight on. Communication is difficult while riding on a bike, so you just hope that the guys know what they’re doing. Kozik leaves Charming, driving on the State Route 4. And he drives, drives and drives. Not very fast, just right to enjoy landscape and sunset. After about 20 minutes you start to relax, feeling happy about this ... weird and unscheduled journey. Life’s an adventure. 

In Pittsburg Kozik stops and you get off the bike, taking off the helmet.   
“That was nice, Koz. But what the hell are we doing in Pittsburg?” You smile and he takes your hand in his, still sitting on his bike.   
“Uhm, so ... there’s a small restaurant, uhm, serving Italian food. They’ve got a terrace with a view of the bay. It’s really ... nice. Romantic, I guess. See?” He asks, pointing somewhere on the right.   
“Okay?” You frown, looking puzzled in the direction he gives you.   
“So, are you hungry, baby? If you want ... I’m gonna pay for your dinner and ...”   
“Baby? Dinner? Wait a minute, Koz. Juice said, there was a kind of emergency and I need to trust you and ...”  
“Yeah, hm, you didn’t come the clubhouse and you refused to talk to anyone. And I ... kind of missed you and I was worried. I know you’re heartsick and I know what Gabe did – and he’s an asshole and someone should kick him in his balls ... and ... fuck, I’m so bad at this. Sorry.”  
You have never ever seen Kozik this nervous and ... insecure. It’s kinda sweet.   
“You missed me?”  
“Yeah. And I thought ... there are plenty more fish in the sea, and if you like ... The plan was to ... take you out. For a ride and a dinner.”  
“We’re only in Pittsburg to have dinner in a restaurant?”  
“Mhm. If you don’t want ... we’re gonna drive right back. And you can kick me in the ass for bothering you.”  
“Oh, my god!” You sigh. “Did you know, Koz, that Juice by a hair’s breadth placed me in my pajamas on your bike?”  
“Oh, that would’ve been ... ” He stops and chuckles: “Must be a nifty PJ, huh?”  
“Not really. But Juice liked it. If you just ... had said a word ... I would’ve dress up.”  
He smiles, this broad smile, and points on his own clothes: “It’s nothing too fancy, Y/N. I’m not wearing a tux, so ... it’s just a dinner at a quite ordinary restaurant. And you look really beautiful.”  
“Thanks, Koz. So, I’m starving. Wanna go?”  
He nods, getting of his bike and before he’s got a chance to put his hands in the pockets of his kutte, you take his hand in yours. He gives you a smile, freeing his hand and putting his arm around your shoulder, pulling you nearer.  
“The closer you are, the better I feel,” he says lowly and you smile.


	42. One step at a time (Happy x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "A wedding?" (Happy x Reader)

“The first weekend in May, Hap ...” You ask, “are you in town?”  
You feel him shrugging, his fingertips caressing your upper arm: “Guess so. Why?”  
“Dianna is getting married. Would you like to come with me? To the ... wedding?”  
“A wedding? Dianna? Who’s Dianna?” He asks, rubbing over his forehead.   
“The daughter of my cousin Clark. You’ve met him once, but I don’t think you know Dianna.”  
“No, I don’t.”  
“So, wanna come with me? But you will need ... a suit. It’s a collar and tie type of wedding.”   
“I don’t even own a suit or a tie. So, no thanks.”  
You sigh – but you’d already know that. He’s not the guy for collar and tie and weddings. You’ll go alone. Like every time. 

 

“Wasn’t it a wonderful church service?” Aunt Hattie asks and you nod, offering your arm to help her leave the church.   
“It was.”  
“It was the most romantic wedding since your mother married your father. That was back in ... 1970?”  
“No. My parents married in 1965, Hattie.”  
“Oh ...,” the old lady sighs. “Damn it! My memory is more perforated than a lace doily.”   
“That’s totally okay, when you’re 91, auntie.”   
“Oh, but my memory is gold contrary to my bones. These stairs ... they’re killing me.”   
“Not when I’m with you. We’ll go slowly. We’ve got time.”  
You concentrate on the stairs, supporting Hattie, one step after the other. Halfway down she needs a break, breathing, dealing with the pain in her knees.   
“Clark’s waiting with the wheelchair, Hattie,” you say, “you don’t need to walk to the car.”   
“Thanks god, Y/N ...,” she sighs and takes a deep breath. “Who’s the bald man in the black suit, talking to Clark? I didn’t see him in the church. He’s not a member of our folks, is he? Groom’s side, right?”   
You lift your gaze, looking to Clark and smile: “No, that’s Mr. Lowman, Aunt Hattie. My partner. He ... wasn’t able to come earlier.”   
You see Happy nodding, giving Clark a small smile, before he’s taking the stairs with long steps, two stairs at once.   
“Hi,” he says and leans in for a kiss.   
“Hi. Happy, this is Aunt Hattie. She came the long way down from Port Orford. Hattie, this is Happy Lowman, my partner.”   
“Nice to meet you,” Happy states and your smile gets even bigger.   
“Oh, the love, the love ...” Hattie sighs, looking very satisfied. “Mind to help an old lady down the stairs, young man?”   
And Happy doesn’t mind. 

About an hour later you have a few minutes alone time, sitting on a table in the big tent.   
“Thanks for coming, Happy. What made you change your mind?” You ask, your head leaning on his shoulder.   
“The brothers asked me where you are. And I told them. They were ... somehow upset and called me a dumbass, a jerk and an idiot. An hour later I was dolled up in Chibs’ suit and tie and Tig’s shoes. Juice gave me a lift, stopping at a florist to get this damn flower for the lapel, this asshole. He asked me of the color of your dress and came back with a yellow rose. Motherfucker.”  
Happy shakes his head and gives the innocent yellow rose on his lapel a deadly look.   
“You look very good. Really. It’s perfect.”  
“I look like a biker placed in the wrong setting. You ... look beautiful, baby.”   
He takes your hand in his and you whisper: “To ask if I have the pleasure of a dance is too much, right?”  
“Yeah. One step at a time, honey. Just like Hattie and the stairs.” He answers. “You may ask at the next wedding.”


	43. Stay (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "So what, you're just gonna leave?" (Juice x Reader)

You free yourself out of Juice’s embrace, getting up. You enjoyed the calloused hands on your skin, his odor, his dirty talk, the roughness, mixed with heartbreaking tenderness. Juan Carlos had always been a good fuck, and he improved his lover qualities in the last ten years. Long story short: The sex is fantastic.   
“You good?” He asks sleepily, watching you with one eye.   
You nod, searching for your clothes: “Yeah.”   
“Sure?”  
“Yes, Juan.”   
“Uhm ...,” he says, propping his temple on his hand, “about three minutes ago I was balls deep in you.”  
“Yeah, I was there too. I remember pretty well.” You answer, giving him a smile, closing your bra.   
“So what, you’re just gonna leave?” He asks, getting up too, standing in front of the bed in all his naked glory.   
“Mhm-mhm.”   
“Why?”  
“Why not?” You ask, shrugging.   
“It’s 3 ...,” Juice turns around, looking to the alarm clock on his bedside table, “3:46 a.m.”  
“That’s no reason. That’s a time specification.”   
You take a look at his well trained body, his softened cock, the tiny spot of clotted semen on his thigh. The air smells like sex and sweat and his bed seems to be the most attractive spot in the world right now. So attractive, so alluring, so desirable you expect a bus full of tourists arriving in the next minutes.   
Juice takes your hand in his, caressing your skin with his thumb.   
“You’re so tired,” he whispers at your ear, his lips wandering over your jaw line and neck back to your earlobe. “Lay down. Sleep.”  
“We were here for sex, weren’t we?” You say under your breath, closing your eyes.   
“I’m here because of you. And you’re here because of me. Let’s get back to bed, baby. Please.”  
“You want me to stay?”  
“I want you to stay.” He answers and with a smooth motion your bra is gone. “Naked. In my arms. The whole night and the whole day and the next night and the next day.”   
You nod and find yourself seconds later in his arms in this fantastic bed. Something you could get used to.


	44. Mission accomplished (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hey, can I hold your boobs for a second? (Juice x Reader)

“We must be ... convincing ...,” Juice whispers at your lips and you answer: “Then kiss me finally.”  
The alley is dark and Juice wears a hoodie to hide his mohawk. No one should notice you at this stupid undercover mission Jax sent you. In the last half hour Juice was so close to you, you felt everything on his body: Two guns. Cell phone. Wallet. The big knife. The small knife. And, just now, in the last seconds, his boner.   
His damn boner. Fucking distracting when you’re supposed to observe a conversation between Big Barb and Lighthouse Joe. Thankfully they weren’t here – until now. A few seconds ago you heard voices in the room, words flowing through the window Juice opened a crack. You’re awaiting some guards in the alley, checking the area – and you should convince them that you’re innocent, harmless, just a couple who wasn’t able to make it in the next bed.   
“Hey, can I hold your boobs for a sec?” Juice whispers at your ear as you hear heavy steps coming nearer.   
“Yes,” you answer breathless on his lips and you feel his fingers sliding under your shirt, his right hand cupping your left tit.   
You’re lifted and pressed against the wall. The steps coming nearer, two men, maybe three.   
“Go on,” Juice whispers, “Play along.”   
His hips snap and you moan, he sets a relentless pace, fucking you in the wall, his boner hard as a rock in his pants. He’s kissing you like ... god! You kiss each other as he would really fuck you. Is this how Juice Ortiz kisses a woman he fucks?   
“Sid!” You moan, “God, Sid! Give it to me, baby! Fuck me harder, please!”  
You hear chuckling – the guards noticed you, they watch you and you give them quite a show. Juice pants, stopping like he has lost his rhythm, like he slipped out, cursing under his breath.   
“Don’t stop, baby,” you beg, “go on, please!”  
You feel the wetness pooling in your panties and Juice finds his fake rhythm again, hammering you into the goddamn wall. And then they’re gone. Idiots. Juice stops, listening closely.  
“They’re gone,” he says under his breath.   
He carries you nearer to the window, still holding you in his arms, his hand on your tit.   
“I want you ...,” you whisper, looking him in the eyes.   
He nods, his hand losing the contact to your tit and he opens his belt. Your panties are shoved aside, his gaze locked with yours. That’s what you’ve fantasized about, for so long now.   
“Sure?” He whispers and you nod.   
“Please.”  
“Be silent. No acting up. This is for us.”  
Once again you nod and he closes your mouth with a kiss, entering you slowly and gently.   
“Tomorrow, 9 p.m., Pier 25.” A voice says and Juice breaks the kiss.   
“Heard that?” He whispers at your ear.  
“Yeah.”  
“Mission accomplished, Y/N.”   
“Yeah,” you answer smiling and, finally, he starts fucking you.  
Your back will be scratched like hell tomorrow, you’ll be sore and tense – but you’ve got Juice fucking you, a silent, gentle fuck against a damn wall. And something, deep in your mind, tells you, that this is what Jax had wanted. That he gives a fuck for Big Barb and Lighthouse Joe. But you won’t complain. You love undercover missions.


	45. You, you? (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Did you mean like ... this? (Juice x Reader)

You flinch as he locks the door to his dorm, feeling nervous and shy. You’re not so good at the flirting thing and you feel a bit ashamed for your miserable attempts in seducing Juice. You’ve tried for a few weeks now to make him notice you, notice in a special way, in the way a man notices a woman. You failed impressively. At the end of every SAMCRO party he had another crow eater on his lap. You retired, promising yourself to forget him, to never ever join one of these fucking parties. But you can’t get him out of your head.   
And now you’re here. In his dorm. The door is locked.   
“The DVD is on the drawer,” he says casually and you nod, giving him a smile over your shoulder.  
Two steps to the drawer, reaching out for the DVD, reading the text on the back.   
“So, uhm, thanks for borrowing, Juice. I could watch it tomorrow and ... and drop it in your mailbox. Maybe.”  
“Take your time, Y/N.” He answers and you feel him coming closer.   
Pressing the DVD case on your chest you watch him placing his hands on the top of the drawer, hemming you. The muscles on his forearms and his tattoo – you can’t get enough of the sight. Your heart beats like crazy and you take a deep breath.  
Enjoy it. Maybe you’ll never ever come so close to him.   
“You said some interesting things out there,” Juice says lowly, his mouth close to your ear.   
“Did I?”  
“Mhm. You said you like being kissed on the neck.”  
“Oh,” you whisper, “uhm, yeah. I ... I like that.”   
“Did you mean like ... this?” He asks and places a few, gentle kisses on the skin of your neck.   
You hold your breath, you body stiffens and you have to close your eyes. With shaking hands you place the DVD case on the drawer, searching for some hold at the wood.   
“What else do you like?” Juice whispers between kisses.   
“I ... I ...” You stutter, not able to think straight.   
Fuck! What happens here? Is he trying to seduce you? Really? What’s that? Hidden camera? That isn’t funny, guys!   
“You, you?”, Juice answers and you can totally hear his grin. “Do you like my hands slipping under your shirt? Like ... this?”   
You nod, feeling his fingers on your belly.   
“Do you like it when a man opens your bra and pays some special attention to your nipples?”  
“Yes,” you whisper and a moan slips over your lips as he opens your bra.   
His fingers sliding under your bra, cupping your breasts, his thumbs petting over the sides.  
“Oh ...,” you sigh as he rolls your nipples between his fingers.   
“Like this? You like that, don’t you?” Juice whispers and you feel him pressing his boner in the small of your back. “What else do you like? Tell me, Y/N.”   
You swallow hard before you answer: “I like it when a man unbuttons my pants and ... slips with his fingers in my panties ... to ... to feel how wet I already am.”   
“Really? Sounds good,” Juice whispers, his right hand leaving your tit to unbutton your jeans.   
His calloused hand pets over the skin on your lower belly, slowly, so damn erotic, directly in your soaking wet panties. The tip of his pointer finger dips in your wetness and you can’t suppress a moan.   
“You’re wet, baby. Hot and wet. Absolutely ready to feel my cock deep, deep in you, aren’t you?”   
“Yes,” you whimper, “yes, I am.”   
His left hand grabs your wrist, leading you to the bulge in his pants, rubbing your palm over his cock.  
“Feel it?” He asks, “All for you.”  
“Juice ..,” you sigh, “please ...”  
“Please what?”  
“Kiss me.”   
“Did you mean like ... this?” He asks, grabs the hair on the back of your head, pulls your head back and kisses you, while his pointer finger flickers over your clit.   
Your knees weaken and your thinking stops. You are where you always wanted to be.


	46. I've dreamed a dream (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You, my friend, are a filthy sinner and I approve wholeheartedly. (Juice x Reader)

You wake up from the feeling of a cock sliding through your folds. The alarm clock shows 4:41 pm, so you’ve slept only a few minutes in Juices arms. He took you from behind, and you faced the alarm clock, so you know perfectly the point in time he spilled his seed in your belly: 4:02. Lazy Sunday afternoons with Juice are your favorite.   
“Hard again?” You whisper and feel him nodding.   
“Yeah. I dreamed of you. A few minutes ago. And last night.”   
“And what did you dream, honey?” You ask, catching up with his slow, teasing movements.   
“A few minutes ago I dreamed I would slide in you like this. Spooning. I only woke up to do so.”   
“So, come on in. What are you waiting for?”   
You sigh as you feel him entering you slowly.   
“Jesus Christ ...,” Juice moans, pulling your closer, skin on skin.   
“What did you dream last night?”  
“We were in a dark thick forest, searching something. We found an abandoned chapel, you know, built of wood, completely askew.”  
“Is this going to be erotic or spine-chilling?” You ask, feeling not in the mood for hearing a horror story. “And if it’s spine-chilling is there at least Dean Winchester involved?”   
“Erotic. And don’t talk of other men with my cock buried in you.”  
He gives you a sharp thrust, making you moan.   
“Oooh ....” You lift your arm, placing your hand on his head, feeling his breath on your skin as he goes on: “The chapel was empty except for the altar and a few benches – and about twenty candles.”  
“They were lit, right?”  
“Yeah. I led you to the altar, lifted you on the top and climbed over you.”  
Juice fucks you slowly, his hands wandering over your body. You close your eyes, imagining the scene.   
“You kissed me, removing all my clothes.”  
“That’s what I did. You know me well,” he chuckles and stills for a few seconds, breathing deeply as you tighten your inner muscles. By the time he speaks again his voice is hoarse: “I fucked you slowly, looking you in the eyes the whole time. You begged me for more and more and more. You came hard, again and again, without me even stimulating your clit. Just by slow, thorough fucking.”  
“It was the atmosphere.”  
“Yeah, guess so. It felt holy and ... damn perfect. I couldn’t close my eyes, not even when I came. It felt like ... liters of seed spilling out of my cock.”   
He gives you a few thrusts, just like the ones he described.   
“I helped you leave the altar and ... and ...”   
“And fucked me once more over the benches?”  
“No,” he whispers. “No. You suddenly had a baby bump. I ... knocked you up.”   
“Wow,” you answer, not sure what to say else. “That sounds ... disturbingly erotic.”   
“It was. You were beautiful, you know?”   
Juice falls silent, concentrating on fucking you, like in his dream. It lasts nearly forever until he speeds up and starts rubbing your clit, his other arm holding your bucking hips steady. You grab his head, pressing his face in your shoulder in the moment your orgasm hits you. You feel and hear him following you a few seconds later.   
The room is silent. 5:07 pm. You close your eyes, ready to drift back in your lazy sleepy state of doziness.   
“About 60 miles north, there’s an abandoned chapel in the woods. We could drive there after dinner, with a few candles in a backpack. And I could fuck you on the altar ...,” he whispers and you open your eyes.   
His hands still wandering over your body, caressing you. He has to stop doing this if you drive to this chapel. On the other hand ...  
“You, my friend, are a filthy sinner and I approve wholeheartedly.” You answer, smiling. “But I’m sorry to admit that you won’t be able to knock me up, Juice. As many liters you may pump in my belly, I will leave the altar without a baby bump.”  
“That’s okay,” he answers. “If I ever knock you up I won’t do this on an altar. That’s a bit creepy and no story you could tell your kid in a few years.”   
“Yeah, mhm, no ... it wasn’t exactly the honeymoon, darling. You know, your father played too much Diablo 3 the night before and dreamed of fucking me on an altar and we decided to give it a try. We drove 60 miles on your father’s bike and he fucked me on an altar in an abandoned chapel. We didn’t have large sized, white candles so we used the little baby blue candles from your father’s last birthday cake and that's the story of your fathering. I'm sorry, honey ...”  
Juice laughs and places a kiss on your shoulder: “I love you, baby.”   
“Love you more. You filthy sinner.”


	47. The suitor (Happy x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The things you said yesterday ... did you mean them? (Happy x Reader)

You have no idea why he’s one of your regulars. He’s a good looking man, a bit taciturn, but out there are so many gorgeous woman of all age, drooling all over the place if they had the chance to get fucked by Happy Lowman. But he always comes back to you. Maybe he’s shitty at flirting. Maybe he wants quality. Maybe he likes you. Biweekly he visits Charlie’s Angels, the brothel you work in. He requests you and only you and if you’re not there, he leaves. When you’re available you lead him in your room, he pays in advance and opens his belt. He doesn’t need seduction, he doesn’t like playing games or chatting a few minutes. He pays for sex, he gets it. Straightforward. 

Yesterday it has been a bit different, because he noticed your black eye – fucking make-up didn’t cover up enough – and after fucking you as good as always, he asked who’d hurt you. And as you happened to be in a very desperate mood you told him about how Charlie beat you up the day before because three suitors in one week complained about you. You know perfectly why they complained: They hope for free sex, or for cheaper sex as your time is something expensive to buy. So they complain. Sometimes they’re successful. And Charlie is an asshole.  
You’re a bit surprised as you see Happy walking in the bar, requesting you. Silently you walk to your room, he places the bills on the table, you count them, he opens his belt. Just as every time he visits you. Except that he’s been here yesterday.  
“You good?” He asks, placing his kutte on the chair, followed by his shirt.  
“Yeah. Thanks.” You watch him removing his boots, pants, socks and boxers, smiling by the sight of his glorious body.  
Fuck, he’s really the sexiest of your regulars.  
“Strip,” he says, fisting his half hard cock.  
You do as he says, giving him a smile. A real smile, not the fake one you normally use in this situation.  
“Special wishes today, Hap?” You ask as he nods to the bed.  
“No. Lay on your back.”  
He comes to you, pulling you in his arms, caressing your body, kissing your neck, licking over your nipples. When you close your eyes you can imagine that he’s your boyfriend. After – you calculate quickly – about 120 visits (and you don’t wanna think about the money he spent on you, holy mother of god!) he knows exactly what gets you all hot and bothered. And you know what he likes. Sighing you free yourself of his embrace. You’ve been paid, you’ve got a job.  
“No,” he says. “Stay like this.”  
Oh. This is new.  
“Hap, let me do my job ...” you whisper, drawing circles around his nipple.  
“I’m the suitor. You do what I want. And I said stay.”  
Oh. Double oh. This is really new.  
“We okay, Hap?” You ask, lying back as he demanded.  
“I am, yeah. What about you?”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Good. Stop talking. Enjoy.”

Your breathing is still heavy, the post-orgasmic afterglow pulsing through your veins. Happy lies on top of you, entering you slowly. You spread you legs wider, to make room for him, to have him push deeper into you. You feel his forehead pressing on yours, he’s fucking you slowly, skin on skin, breathing your breath, letting you breathe his.  
120 times and you experience something new. That’s somehow heartbreaking, you think, so fantastic, so, so good.  
“The things you said yesterday ... Did you mean them?” He asks lowly, withdrawing until he’s nearly out.  
“Which things?”  
“That you hate Charlie. That you want to see him tortured. And dead. That you want to quit and leave. That you’re too old to have a job like this.”  
“Happy ...,” you whisper, “Jesus Christ, I was ... was upset and – oh, my god!” You gasp as he hits your sweet spot.  
“I’ll do it,” he says.  
“Do what?”  
“I’ll let him die. A painful death. Didn’t like to hear he treats you like shit and beats you up.”  
“Hap ...”  
He fucks you slowly, in an even rhythm, so slow you can talk like lovers. But instead of whispering sweet nothings in your ear, like a lover would do, he offers to kill Charlie, the man you hate most on this planet.  
“Ever heard of the Tacoma Killer?” He asks and you nod, suppressing a moan.  
He’s so good, so fucking damn good.  
“So you don’t need further information,” he states and you open your eyes.  
“You?”  
“Want to get rid of him or not?”  
You lie on your back, the Tacoma Killer buried deep in your pussy and ... then it happens. You nod. You fucking nod.  
“Wanna watch?”  
“No, I ... Happy!” He fucks you faster now, obviously turned on by the thought on his upcoming job.  
“What do you want?” You pant. “How much?”  
“I want you,” he rasps. “You quit here after the job is done. I’m the only one who fucks you.”  
“Really?” Your breathing gets heavier with every thrust.  
You never had to fake. He gets you off every time. Again and again. He never failed. You harmonize perfectly.  
“Yeah. I want you. Think about it.”  
Then he falls silent, concentrating on fucking you into heaven, hell and back. And you already know the answer you’ll give him, sealing your deal with a kiss.


	48. Edge (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you? (Juice x Reader)

He’s whimpering. Finally. You tease his rock hard cock for about twenty minutes now and you have never seen him like this before. Every muscle tensed, he’s panting so hard and he whimpers, what is the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard. You tickle his balls with one hand, with the other you tease his cock, sliding up and down, slowly, with two fingers. His hips bucking, his abs clenching but you stop every time he comes too close to his orgasm.   
“Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you?” He asks breathlessly and you give him a smile: “No. You’ll love me for this experience. The best is yet to come, Juice.”  
“Yeah? What is it?”  
“Ready for the big finale?” You ask, kissing him on the lips, grabbing his balls in a steel grip, just for a second.   
“Woaaaah ... fuck! What the hell!” He pants, his chest rising hectically.   
“Tell me when you feel your orgasm starts.”  
“My orgasm started about half an hour ago, baby. Guess by midnight we’re drowning in pre-cum if you go on like this,” he hisses through gritted teeth.  
“Tell me.”  
“Okay. But ...”  
“Yeah?”  
“Please ...,” he moans, “please let me come. Need to shoot my load.”  
“Mhm,” you whisper near his ear, not stopping to tease his cock, “be a good boy and tell me when you feel the tingle in your spine. If you do, you’re gonna shoot the next load deep in my pussy.”   
“And if I don’t say it?”  
“Doesn’t matter. I see when you reach the point of no return.”   
“Okay,” he moans and you go faster, watching his reactions closely.  
The heaving chest, his louder moans, the quivering abs, the trembling of his thighs. You stop in the same moment he stutters a “now” and grab both of his hands to prevent him from doing it by himself. He gasps as his cum is pouring out of his cock, as he ejaculates without having satisfaction.   
“Oh, fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” He yells, lifting his head and watching his cock with horror. “What the fuck did you do?”  
“I ruined your orgasm. If you’ve passed the point of no return and the stimulation stops, your body is puzzled for a few seconds – interesting feeling, isn’t it? – and you ejaculate. Without having a full orgasm. An ejaculation without relaxation or satisfaction. See? You’re still hard. And you stay hard.”  
“Bitch!” Juice hisses, “Fuck, that’s ... oh, Jesus fucking Christ!”  
You go on with teasing, whispering: “Once more, Juan. One more ruined orgasm and you’re allowed to fuck me sore. You’re going to call the shots then.”  
“Okay,” he consents, “go on. You edge me for how long now? Half an hour? I’m gonna edge you the rest of the night.”  
“Looking forward to it,” you whisper, leaning in for a kiss.


	49. Lessons in geography (Tig x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wait a second ... are you jealous? (Tig x Reader)

“What’s that?” Tig asks, holding your cell phone up.   
“My cell phone. Why?” You ask, grabbing for it.   
“Why the fuck is there a background image of a half-naked asshole Juice with ‘champ’ written on his hairless baby chest?”  
You chuckle, caressing Tig’s cheek: “Wait a second. Are you jealous?”   
“Yeah, dammit. I am. I’m your old man, not that kindergarten boy with the dumb smile.”   
“It was a bet. I lost. We talked about geography and I said I’m really good in this capital city thing. And Juice challenged me. Half-Sack chose ten states and asked for the capital cities. And this fucker went for Eritrea, Guinea, Cape Verde, Kiribati, Malawi, Bahrain, Laos, Moldova, South Sudan and Cyprus. Juice knew them all.”  
“And if you had known them all, he had gotten a photo of your naked tits for his phone, or ...?”  
“No, of course not. What do you think of your old lady, mhm? If I had won he’d promise me to eat me out ten times and ...”  
Tig gets up, heading to the garage.   
“TIGGY!” You yell, laughing. “That was a joke, you jealous baby.”  
He stops, turning around, watching you with murder in his eyes: “What did he promise?”  
“A hot fudge sundae at Jeff’s. Nothing else. Come here, baby.”  
Slowly he comes closer and you place his right hand on your ass, his left one on your right tit.   
“All yours, Tiggy. No need to be jealous. No one touches me but you.” You whisper, pressing your body on his, kissing his neck.   
He sighs and squeezes your butt.   
“How long you’re supposed to have this disgusting photo on your phone?”  
“Just until tomorrow.”   
“Okay,” he says, tucking the cell phone away in his pocket. “I’ll keep your phone. You can have it back shortly after midnight. After I changed the photo.”  
“Can I have a nude one of my old man?”  
Tig grins, but he doesn’t answer verbally. He slaps your ass and squeezes your tit before turning around, heading to the garage.   
“Where are you going?” You ask.  
“Finding Half-Sack and kicking his ass to Yamoussoukro.”  
“What’s Yamoussoukro?”   
“Capital city of Ivory Coast, baby.”   
“Fucker!” You whisper, smiling.


	50. Make me (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Come over here and make me" (Dom!Juice x Reader)

The atmosphere is charged after your argument with Juice. His fists are clenched and you see he’s pissed. Totally pissed. But he fell silent two minutes ago, probably because understanding that you’re right, probably because of his boner, draining all the blood from his brain to his cock. Or something like this.   
“You’re so close-lipped, Ortiz. How come? Coin has fallen into the bucket?” You smile, crossing your arms, leaning back in your chair.   
He’s standing at the kitchen counter, his lips small, his gaze hard.   
“Blow. Me.” He hisses, his fists opening and closing several times, his jaw clenching.   
“Come over her and make me,” you state friendly, giving him a smile.   
With two big steps he’s standing in front of you, his left hand fisting your hair, pulling you – not to brutal – from the chair, pressing you down on your knees. You smile, seeing his right hand opens his belt, and then tugging impatiently at pants and boxers. His rock hard cock springs free, you smell his arousal, soap and a bit of sweat.   
“Blow me,” he whispers. “Blow me.”   
He’s tugging at your hair, with exact the right amount of faked brutality that gets you off.   
“Open up,” Juice demands, fisting his cock with his right hand, brushing with his tip over your lips. “Take me in.”   
You wink and shake your head. “Make me.” You whisper, “You’re a big, strong man, aren’t you, Ortiz? You should be able to ...” You choke a bit as he uses the opportunity of your open mouth to slide into you, deep into you.  
“Like this?” He asks and you nod, pressing your tongue against his cock, sucking. “Go on, come on.” He encourages you, gently tugging at your hair.   
At first, Juice lets you do all the work, enjoying the blow job he’d earned: “I love arguing with you, baby. Makes me so horny every time. You’re so snarky and so cheeky and so much of a smartass, it’s annoying. And I love silencing you this way.”  
You choke once more as his hips snaps forward, as he presses your nose against his pubic bone. “Relax, honey, relax your throat. Let me in.”   
He pulls back a little bit, letting you breathe and you nod as he gives you a questioning look. Consent must be a given for him.   
“Take a deep breath. Relax,” he whispers, “just like we’d practice.”  
You manage to do what he demands and he groans a deep: “Fuck!” in the moment he’s there where he wants to be. His head falls back, his eyes closed, he’s enjoying your clenching throat until you tap out on his thigh. You breathe heavily, wiping tears out of your eyes, and give him a big smile.   
“You wet for me?” He asks and you nod.   
“Get up. Bend over the table. Lift your skirt for me.”  
You do as you’re told, wiggling with your ass: “Come on, what are you waiting for? Fuck me, Ortiz!”   
His cock glides teasingly through your wet folds, his hand caressing your backside.   
“If you call me ‘Ortiz’, it’s Mr. Ortiz. And a ‘please’ would do you good.”   
“Please, Mr. Ortiz, fuck me.” You whisper, moaning as he pushes into you.   
“Tell me, Y/N, who was right in our little ... discussion?” He asks and you can totally hear his grin.  
“I was right.”  
“Wrong answer, baby,” he whispers, giving your two hard thrusts, making you moan. “If you want to cum, you should re-think your choice.”   
“That’s pretty unfair.”  
“Yeah, maybe. But I’m the boss. Who was right?”  
“You were right.”  
“That’s my good girl. Want me to make you cum?” He asks, reaching around your body to rub your clit.   
“God, Ortiz! Just do it!”  
“Pardon?” One more hard thrust to remind you what he expects.   
“Please, Mr. Ortiz, please.”  
“There! Go on, beg a little. I like that.”  
You moan, spreading your legs a bit more and taking hold on the table top. This is gonna be a hard ride.


	51. The ridiculous beard (Opie x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Go then, leave! See if I care!" (Opie x Reader)

“Go then, leave! See if I care!” You yell to your reflection in the mirror, making a big, desperate gesture with your hands.   
“Nah, shit ...,” you mumble and your best friend Charlotte shakes her head: “Try again. More desperate but not so loud. He must feel your pain, the pain has to hit him like a baseball bat.”   
“Go then, leave! See if I care!” You sob, hiding your face in your hands.   
“Not so bad. Try once more. He has to tear his ridiculous, weird beard apart, just by hearing you sob this all ending statement.” Charlotte states and you try again: “Go then, leave! See if I care!”  
“Less sobbing. He won’t understand you. He’s a man, he’s helpless in front of a crying woman, too much tears are too sidetracking, don’t forget that.” Charlotte advises and you sigh: “I can’t do this, Charlotte. I just can’t.”  
“You can. It’s fucking time to do it. Go for it, girl. You have nothing important to lose. One more time, go on. Convince me.”   
“Go then, leave! See if I care!!!” You manage two perfect tears rolling down your cheek and Charlotte nods satisfied: “Yeah, that’s it, baby. It will kill him. So, enough of this. I need to talk about my date tomorrow.” 

30 minutes later you said goodbye to Charlotte and enter the kitchen.   
“Hi, Ope. You’re early,” you say, taking a look at the clock on the wall.   
You step in his personal space, wondering about his crossed arms and his stern facial expression.   
“Are you hungry, babe?” You ask, going on tiptoes to kiss him.   
“Oh, wait. No kissing. Just let me shave my ridiculous, weird beard.” He hisses, squinting.   
“But I love your beard. Please don’t shave it,” you say, puzzled. “Is everything alright, Ope?”   
“You tell me.”  
You take a step back, giving him a thoughtful look: “I’m making dinner now. You’re obviously hungry and in a bad mood.”   
“I can eat at Gemma’s, too. Or have a pizza at Juice’s place.”   
“You’re angry with me and I don’t get why, Harry.” You answer, feeling your own anger start to burn.   
“Maybe because you’re talking shit.”  
“Beg your pardon?” You hiss, clenching your fists. “I don’t talk shit.”  
“Y/N, if you want to call it off, just do it. But don’t play idyllic world for me, waiting for the right moment to tell me I can go and fuck myself.”   
“Call it off? Are you nuts, Opie? I don’t want to call anything off.”   
“I heard you. With Charlotte. In the bedroom. No need to brazen it out, babe. It’s seems like a big cliché, but sometimes it’s good to be home earlier than expected.”   
You rub your face, trapped between amusement and horror.   
“Fuck, Opie! That’s ... fuck!” You grin, trying to hold a chuckle down, but you fail.   
“I can’t find it funny.” Opie states, still angry.   
“Remember Paul Carson from High School?”  
“Yeah. You dump me for Carson? God! Fuck!” Opie yells, clenching his fists, his gaze searching for something to destroy.   
“NO! Just listen, okay?”   
“Okay. Go on, hurry up. I’m gonna explode in a few seconds.”   
“Paul bought the old playhouse at Appleby Street. He renovated the building and he wants to set up an amateur theatre. The first play is supposed to be an adaption of ‘The Witches Of Eastwick’. I want to audition for the role of Sukie Rougemont. The audition is on Saturday. Charlotte helped me ... because I’m pretty nervous. I want to play theatre for so long and ... yeah ... I hope Paul will give me a chance.”   
“Oh ...,” Opie says, “And what’s that thing with the ridiculous beard?”  
“The guy Sukie talks to has a very odd goat beard. That’s all.”   
“Oh, my fucking god! I nearly had a heart attack. I thought you would leave me, baby,” Opie whispers, pulling you in his embrace.   
“No, I’ll never leave you, Opie. Wanna come with me to my audition? I could need some support.”  
“Yeah, of course.”  
“Next time I’ll hang a sign at the door: Be careful, we’re practicing acting.”   
“Great idea. As much as I heard I’d say you rock Sukie, babe.”   
“Thanks. I love you, Opie.”  
“Love you more.”


	52. Blow-by-blow (Juice x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No prompt, just shameless smut

You feel the heat of his body hovering over your back. Kiss. Breath. Kiss. Breath. Stubble scratching over your shoulder blades. Another kiss, on your spine. You feel the little hairs standing in attention, feel the goose bumps. Kiss. You close your eyes, sighing lowly. Kiss. A big, warm hand caressing your hip.  
A soft-spoken, gentle “babe” reaches your ears, accompanied by a little slap on your ass.  
“Don’t you dare falling asleep,“ Juice whispers, without stopping placing kisses on your spine.  
“Why shouldn’t I? It’s very cozy, warm and so good ...” You smile lazily, slightly writhing under him.  
“What did I say? Lay still. And don’t fall asleep. Ain’t ready with you yet. I wanna fuck that sweet little pussy of yours.”  
“Go on then, Juice. I’m ready.”  
“You didn’t cum.”  
You shrug: “Wanna cum with you, around your cock.”  
“Around my cock?” He whispers, placing another kiss on your shoulder blade, his hand wandering to your pussy.  
“Yeah. Around that big cock of yours, impaling me.”  
“That’s better ...,” he answers and you can totally hear his grin. “Just one thing missing ...”  
He goes on kissing, rubbing your clit gently, taking you higher, slowly, but steady. You perfectly know what he wants to hear and you wait until you’re close, edging yourself.  
“Juice ...,” you moan, “please ... do it ... please ...”  
“Please what, little one? Do what? What do you want me to do?”  
“Please ...” You start writhing again, so he lowers himself on your back, steadying you with his weight.  
His cock is in the perfect position, he just needs to push into you, fill you. But he doesn’t. He wants to hear you saying the words, expressing your needs, he loves to hear you beg.  
“Fuck me, please.” You whisper, moaning, pressing your pussy against his hand, searching for more friction. “Fuck me hard, Juice, please!”  
“Blow-by-blow, you know that, little one.” He reminds you, slowing the movement of his fingers down.  
“Please, thrust that big, fat head of your cock in my pussy, you know, that little move that makes me scream all the time ...,” you moan and he grunts in approval.  
“And?”  
“And then pull out. Tease me like you tease me so often.”  
“You like the feeling of your entrance is being stretched, don’t you?” Juice asks and you nod frantically. “It makes you all hot and bothered, right?”  
“Yes, yes, it ... oh, god, Juice! After teasing me, when you think I’ve begged enough, please fuck me with slow, deep strokes. Completely out, balls-deep in, in one hard, long thrust.”  
“Your pussy will make these sucking, wet noises, when I do that”, he whispers, while his cock glides through your folds.  
“Mhm ...,” you answer, “that’s the holy-mother-of-god-this-guy-fucks-me-really-good-sound.”  
“Really?” He teases, “Is this a commonly used term, huh?”  
“It is. When I start to beg you to fuck me hard and good, you will thrust with more power and speed, hitting my sweet spot every time, making me scream. You’re gonna make me cum, fucking me through it and ... do what you need to do for your own pleasure, if you failed to cum with me.” You give him a grin over your shoulder and he smacks your ass softly.  
“You’re naughty, little one.”  
“Please, Juice ... please ... can we stop talking?”  
“Beg me. Beg for my cock.”  
“I need your big, fat cock impaling me, please, Juice, baby, please, fuck me,” you whisper. “I need to be filled, please, please ...”  
“Spread.” Kiss. “Your.” Kiss. “Legs.” Kiss.  
You do as you’re told, making room for him, looking forward to feel the exquisite stretching, the moment of him entering you, pushing into you a few times in a row. You really love that and you could come from that sensation alone.  
“Wider.” He commands and then you feel it.  
His right hand leaving your pussy for a moment to get his cock lined up.  
You spread your legs wider, lifting your hips as you see his left hand grabbing a pillow. He props you for a perfect fuck, smacking your ass in the process.  
“Wanna hear it. One more time. And after that you get exactly what you’ve asked for. Come on, say it. Beg me, little one.”  
“Please, Juice, please, fuck me, need your cock ...”, you moan and your eyes roll back in absolute pleasure in the moment he enters you.


	53. Moved in (Happy x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Well, this is where I live" (Happy x Reader)

“You’re crushing me, Hap,” you whisper. “Please get up …”

He shakes his head, grunting.

“Why not?” You ask, placing a kiss on his neck.

He covers your body nearly completely, his hands pressing yours in the mattress, his cheek on your temple, skin on skin, glued. Connected. His cock balls deep in you. He spilled his load about a minute ago, but he’s not going to leave your pussy, although his cock already softened.

“Wanna stay in you. Feels so damn good,” he mumbles.

“Moved in, huh?” You chuckle, “That’s a very small space for a big, grown-up guy like you, a one room apartment, no kitchen, no bathroom.”

“Well, this is where I live, baby. Get used to it. I’m leading a frugal life.”

“Pff …,” you scoff, “Bobby would say you’re just cheap.”

“Bobby is damn jealous on my new comfortable apartment. He searches one for himself, every night.”

“Isn’t it more like a … garage?” You ask, “Forward in, backward out?”

“For a garage it lacks of a car-jack and an oil tray and a few other tools.” Happy says, shifting his weight a bit.

“I have a few other tools in a box in the wardrobe,” you grin and he chuckles.

“Yeah, but if I use your tools, then there’s no space left for my cock.”

Happy’s phone rings and he withdraws, sighing.

“Fuck! Don’t give it someone else. I’ll be back soon,” he says, getting up to answer the call.

You smile, giving him a shove.

“Dork.”


	54. Weak Spot (Happy x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Why do you keep pushing me away?" (Happy x Reader)

“Shit!” You hear the curse out of the bedroom and you sigh.

You hear his steps, bedroom, hallway, bathroom. With a sigh you take a look out of the window, to the bike parked in your driveway.

“Gotta go,” he says from the kitchen door and you turn around.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Happy says. “I felt asleep, goddammit.” He rubs over his face. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Maybe I felt asleep by myself?” You suggest and point to the table: “I made breakfast. Sit down, come on.”

“Baby …,” he says, coming closer.

You take the fork from the counter, loading a bit of the scrambled eggs on it and balance the fork in front of his mouth.

“Try,” you prompt him.

Obediently – to your surprise – he opens his mouth and you feed him with scrambled eggs.

“Good,” he states after swallowing.

“Sit down, Hap, come on. It’s Sunday, you don’t have to be anywhere. You can stay.”

“I have to go.” He says, shaking his head.

“Why? Why do you keep pushing me away?” You ask, portioning the eggs on two plates.

“You’re my weak spot,” he answers, following you to the table.

You pour him some coffee in a mug and take a seat. You feel that he loves to stay. If not, he would have been gone without even saying a word.

“Sit. A weak spot doesn’t vanish by pushing him away. If you don’t want to have one, you have to quit with me completely, Hap.”

He takes a seat, watching you stone-faced, taking a sip of coffee.

“But if you stay here overnight, you can stay for breakfast too.”

“I didn’t want to stay overnight.”

“But you did. Come on, eat. Cold eggs are horrible.”

As he’s not that big of a talker you fall silent, going through yesterday’s newspaper. You see him shrugging and eating his eggs, helping himself to some toast and more coffee.

“See?” You ask. “Nothing bad has happened. Nobody knows you’re here, Hap. You can stay overnight, you can have breakfast.”

“Stay the whole day?” He asks, “Going back to bed?”

You give him a smile: “Yeah, of course. If you want. That’s the benefit of a weak spot like me.”

He gives you a look, thoughtful look, before he states: “I … like you. Very much.”

You smile because that’s typical for Happy. No words of love, no feelings.

“I like you too, Happy. Very, very much.”


	55. The Witness (Tig x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I wish I could hate you" (Tig x Reader)

“The mind is a crazy thing, you know?” You whisper, lying in the seemingly safety of Tig’s arms.

The room is dark, the house is quiet, the streets empty. Charming sleeps. You can’t.

“Yeah,” Tig mumbles and you know he’ll be asleep in a few minutes.

Ten months before you fell in love with him, against all the whispered, shocked statements of family and friends.

“He’s bad for you. 20 years older. A biker. He’s smoking. He’s wearing leather. He’s got kids.”

But you ignored every single well-intentioned advice and give it a try.

It worked fantastic. Until last week. Until you had this dream, the one dream revealing a thing your subconscious mind wanted to scream at you for so long now, but you’ve never listened.

“All the time I had the feeling I’d seen you before, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Last week I had a dream. And since this night I know I’ve seen you before. Guess where?”

“Dunno, baby,” he answers sleepily. “Did we meet a hundred years ago on the Titanic?”

“No.”

“Pfff …, then it’s Black Hawk Down. A lot of people ask me if this is me, but … I wasn’t in the movie. Sorry, honey. I don’t have the phone number of Eric Bana.”

“I’m not interested in Eric Bana, Tig.”

“Why not? He’s hot.”

“Alexander, could we please return to the conversation I wanted to lead?”

“Yeah, sure. But it’s 3:13 a.m. on a Tuesday, so … can we get straight to the point?”

“Okay. Three years ago I worked at an imports and exports firm, a small business in a bad neighborhood, at Robinson Alley. One day I spent my lunch break at the roof.”

“Aha?” He asks and you feel him shrug.

“I watched a murder in the backyard.”

Tig stiffens in your arms and you know that you’re right. He was the guy you watched shooting another man in the head. Coldly. Without hesitating, not even for a second. You didn’t tell the police that you’ve watched the murder. You know how gangs deal with obnoxious witnesses and you wanted to live. You’d quitted the job and searched for one in a better neighborhood. 

Back then, at the day of the murder, Tig wore a black hoodie, no kutte. And maybe this was the reason your mind needed so long to connect the dots.

“I wish I could hate you,” you whisper. “I really wish. But I can’t. I love you so much, Tig, and I feel nauseated by myself that I love a guy who took a life, but I can’t feel anything other than love towards you.”

You feel him shifting, bringing his body completely over yours. He spreads your legs and places his left hand on your throat. You take a deep, shaky breath, and close your eyes.

The pressure on your throat increases and you whisper: “Please, don’t. Please.”

“Are we clear?” He whispers, his hand sliding from your throat to your chest, grabbing your tit.

“Yes,” you answer, nodding, opening your eyes again, locking your gaze with his.

“We good?” Tig asks and you feel his cock parting your folds.

“We are.”

He sinks in your still wet pussy, balls deep, and you can’t hold a moan back.

“I wish I could hate you,” you whisper once more while he starts fucking you slowly.

“I know,” Tig answers, “I know, baby girl.”


	56. 1879 (Juice x Reader, historical AU!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: “Please… Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me alone, without you.” + “You know what? This place feels like home.” + “You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.“ 
> 
> Wedding night smut, set in 1879. Historical AU. Be warned.

It’s been two years, back in December 1877, that you answered the advertisement in the Charming Chronicle. Since then you’re working as a live-in housekeeper on the Teller premises. It’s been a year and ten months since you noticed that the smithy and the rental stable are just camouflage for the real activities of Mr. Teller, Mr. Munson, Mr. Trager, Mr. Lowman, Mr. Telford and Mr. Ortiz. They raid stage coaches and deal with weapons and opium. You’re still afraid to death, thinking about what happens in the barn you’re not allowed to go in, thinking about what they could do to you if they find out that you know.

You play along. You’re a good housekeeper and the men are always pleased with your work. So far, so good. It’s been a year and a half that Mr. Ortiz started to pay attentions to you. You like him, you feel safe when he’s around. He can be very sweet and caring, he can be funny and he never yelled at you. Six months ago you accepted his hand in marriage. He built a little house on the premises since then and here you are.

Newly married, for about ten hours. Standing in the little kitchen, not knowing what to do.

“You know what? This place feels like home,” Mr. Ortiz smiles and you nod: “It does. It’s lovely, Mr. Ortiz.”

He gives you a long look, making you blush, making you look on the floor. Slowly he comes closer, taking your hand in his, placing a kiss on your ring finger with the wedding ring.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Mrs. Ortiz,” he whispers and lifts your chin.

You’ve never been kissed like this before – but as you’ve never been married that’s no wonder.

His lips on yours feel like … heaven and your knees weaken. Mr. Ortiz holds you in his embrace and that’s a good thing as you would fall on the floor otherwise.

“Oh …,” you whisper as he breaks the kiss. “Please …”

“Did you like it, Mrs. Ortiz?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

He smirks and you smile at him. Once more he kisses you like a husband kisses his wife and you can’t suppress a little sigh. It feels so good, so wonderful. He goes on kissing you, sweet little kisses, while leading you to the bedroom. Patiently and slow, clearly enjoying the moment, he opens all the buttons and straps on your dress, helping you to step out of the little hill of fabric to your feet. He removes the corset and the stockings, strips you down to the chemise before removing his own outerwear.

“Lay down,” he whispers on your lips, giving you another kiss.

You slip under the blanket, watching him joining you.

“I don’t know … how to speak of … without being improper …” You whisper, clenching your fists in the blanket.

You’re so nervous, so damn nervous.

“Speak freely. You don’t need to hold your tongue around me.”

“I guess … I don’t fully understand what will happen tonight, but I trust you, Mr. Ortiz.”

“That’s a good start, my love. I mean you no harm.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. “May I ask for … patience and gentleness?”

He nods, his gaze locked with yours. You feel his fingers opening the buttons of the chemise and you feel the cold air of a winter’s night on your exposed breasts.

“Close your eyes. Enjoy,” he whispers and you do as he demands.

It’s truly enjoyable, it’s better than you’ve thought. Even as he asks you to undress him, as he undresses you completely you feel strangely good. He makes you feel quite perfect, takes away the shame, convincing you that it is right and okay to have his fingers between your legs, to enjoy the ecstasy he sends you in. He explains what he’s doing, what he wants you to do and you’re stunned by all the things you’re learning.

“You’ve seen horses doing it, cows and dogs, right?” He whispers, rolling over you, after what seemed to be an eternity.

“Yes, Mr. Ortiz.”

“So, for our first time we’re gonna do it like this. With me on top of you. Spread your legs a bit more and let me in, darling.”

You nod and do as you’re told. He kisses you gently, whispering at your lips: “Maybe it hurts for a few seconds. But it gets better, I promise.”

“I trust you, Mr. Ortiz.”

He smiles, encouraging, lovingly and you feel a pressure between your legs. Gasping you open your eyes wide, finding him watching you closely. His hips snap and you can’t suppress a surprised yelp.

“That’s it. Are you in pain?” He whispers, his right hand cupping your breast, caressing your nipple.

Shaking your head you ask: “What … what I am supposed to do?”

“Caress me. Kiss me. And if you feel ecstasy, enjoy it.”

Once again you nod, lost in his warm brown eyes, in his gentle smile. He starts moving, slowly, carefully and you’re able to relax, to enjoy.

“Mr. Ortiz …,” you moan lowly, caressing his back, his shoulders.

“Juan, dear. In tender moments like this, when we’re connected, you may use my first name.”

You smile, whispering a “thank you”, yelping a “Juan” straight after as he speeds up, pushing into you with more force, more power.

“You feel so good, Y/N, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers hoarsely, “You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He goes faster and faster and you cling onto him for dear life, waves of pleasure, of arousal washing over you, making your body tremble. You had no idea that it would feel so good.

“Close,” he rasps, “God, yes, Y/N!”

You feel him pressing himself deep into you, his body trembling, shuddering, his jaw clenched and his eyes squinted. He holds still like a statue before he falls down on your body. Your arms close around his back. The marital embrace. You pet him gently, listening to his fast, short breathing. His skin is hot and smooth, his weight on you feels perfect. Sighing he pulls back, making you moan as his penis leaves your body. You feel warm wetness pooling down there, knowing it’s his seed.

He gets up and rolls himself a cigarette, sitting down on the edge of the bed to smoke.

“Am I … am I allowed to clean me up?” You ask lowly and he nods, inhaling the first drag deeply.

Using the washbowl behind the folding screen you take a deep breath, holding it in the moment you notice a bit of blood on the wash cloth. You swallow hard, realizing that you’re a woman now. His wife.

You change into your nightgown and lay down again, watching his back while he finishes the cigarette.

“Thank you, Mr. Ortiz,” you say and he gives you a look over his shoulder, smiling widely.

“Juan, darling. In here, it’s Juan.”

Your husband gets up and you watch him dress. He heads to the door and you sit up: “Juan!”

“Yes?”

“Please … Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me alone, without you.”

“I’m just going to visit the toilet, dear. I’ll be right back.” He answers, coming around the bed, bending down to kiss you. “I won’t leave you. I didn’t marry you and build a house to leave you in our wedding night.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I’m just …”

“I understand, dear. I’ll be right back to hold you.”

He caresses your cheek and leaves the room. By the times he comes back you realized that he may be a thug but to you he’s your loving husband. He chose you by choice, he likes you. Maybe he even loves you. That’s why he acts like a gentleman. That’s why you feel safe and at home.

The sheets are rustling as he lies down and extinguishes the lamp. You’re pulled in his arms, your head is bedded on his chest.

“I think I like that, Juan,” you state lowly, melting against him, inhaling his scent.

“I know a few happy marriages started with less,” he answers and you hear his smile. “But as I happen to love you, Y/N, we’ll be very happy for the rest of our lives.”

“That’s a promise?”

“Yes, it is. And I keep my promises.”


End file.
